


mafs: wicked games

by kittymills



Series: married at first sight [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Found Family, M/M, Married Sheith, POV Alternating, SHEITH - Freeform, Sequel, allurance, mafsverse, team switch, very married
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2019-10-30 22:04:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17836976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittymills/pseuds/kittymills
Summary: ~ Sequel to mafs: foundation ~Keith and Shiro put themselves into the hands of science and were married within moments of meeting each other.Lucky for them, science got it right and they are now adjusting to life as a married couple. They've made their commitments to each other twice over but forces outside their marriage are already threatening to chip away at the life they're building together.[PLAYLIST]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You can pry this AU from my cold, dead, fingers. I'll never stop playing in this sandbox.
> 
> Real talk though, I won't be able to update this as quickly as I did with mafs: foundation because my available writing time has shrunk a lot this year but I'm writing this one for myself and because I have some loose ends to tie up. These guys have talked the talk and made a lot of grand declarations, now I want to see them put their money where their mouth is.

[X](http://lightningstrikes-art.tumblr.com/post/179268922144/flashedarrow-big-thank-you-to)

* * *

 

 

It’s well past midnight by the time they pull up beside the darkened townhouse. The street is quiet, the neighbourhood all tucked away in their beds. A lone cat, lean and pale as silver stalks down the footpath, moving from driveway to driveway before vanishing into the shadows.

Overhead, the stars look down at them, burning silently in the velvet sky.

Sometimes, Keith swears he can feel their weight. Pressing down on him, pushing him into the dirt.

In the driver’s seat, Lance shifts tiredly. He lets the car idle, letting out a long exhale that rings with exhaustion.

“That was a rough one, huh?”

A beat passes before Keith can bring himself to answer. It’s exhaustion but it’s more than just physical. It’s a soul deep, aching tiredness he’s not sure all the hours sleep in the world could help.

“Yeah,” Keith replies, dully.  He’s stiff from the drive home but tries to will his body to move, to unclip the seatbelt and nudge over to the doorhandle. He knows Lance won’t want to linger, not at this time of night and not when he’s got Allura waiting for him but Keith still finds himself slow to move.

There’s a kind of comfort in the tired silence they’d shared in the car. Neither of them had the energy to talk much but at least with Lance, he didn’t have to. There wasn’t any need to rehash the things they’d seen on their last mission, they’d both been there. Rounding off their shift in the early hours of the morning meant also Keith didn’t want to bother Shiro to collect him from the base with his bike still out of action and it wasn’t much of a detour for Lance, despite them now living on opposite sides of the river.

“Thanks for the lift, man.”

Lance shrugs lightly, a dry twist to his lips. “No sweat.”

Keith gives him a small but grateful smile before he pushes the door open and slides out. The night air is surprisingly chilly and the three-level townhouse he now shares with his husband looms silent and dark above him.

He’s about to shut the car door when Lance leans over, one palm splayed on the passenger seat as he peers at Keith illuminated only by the cool glow of the streetlights overhead. Lance’s blue SUV is high enough that he doesn’t have to duck his head to be able to see him. “Hey, Keith?”

Keith pauses on the footpath. “Yeah?”

Lance opens his mouth then shuts it, chewing his lip as though unsure of what he’s about to say. Keith is tired but he waits patiently, an eyebrow raised. “What?” he prompts, when Lance takes too long to speak.

“Just…” Lance sighs. His tired smile from earlier slips and the after effects of a long, harrowing shift is stark in his eyes. Keith recognizes that look, he’s seen it reflected back at himself in the mirror more times than he cares to count. “Don’t keep it bottled up, okay,” Lance finally says, leaning back to put his hands back on the steering wheel.  “Talk to Shiro about it. Or… anyone.”

Keith stares at him for a moment, grateful for the darkness. He hopes the shadows are enough to hide the lie in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. “Sure.”

* * *

 

The townhouse is as silent as he expected it to be when he places his hand over the lock and it flashes from red to green. A small click sounds and he breathes in the soft scent of the night before he pushes open the heavy door quietly. It’s mostly dark inside, only one small lamp in the corner of the living room to light his way around the lower level. He smiles slightly at that, knowing Shiro had left it on purely for his benefit.

By the door, he tugs off his boots and stashes then in the hall cupboard, keeping them neatly out of sight before trudging bare foot over the polished floorboards and into the large cavernous kitchen. A kitchen too large for the townhouse really, especially considering neither of them were any kind of chef. Shiro had confessed that the kitchen was one of the things that sold it to him when he’d first looked at the townhouse a few months after being released from the garrison and with a hefty payout and inheritance burning a hole in his pocket. Keith had snickered at Shiro’s embarrassed laugh at his own indulgence right up until Shiro leered at him and pinned him against said kitchen. All smooth, dark granite and glossy cabinets with a wide island bench and already a bounty of memories of moments shared that made Keith warm inside where the cold threatened and the ache sat.

On the other side of the room, a small round table sits tucked by the patio doors. In front of that lay the living space, a comfortable L shaped couch on a rug they’d already had to replace once and a big screen TV attached to the wall. The shelving against one side had held only a handful of ship models and a few small frames when Keith had moved in, but it now sported a large, beautifully framed wedding photo of their vow renewal, a handful of Keith’s favourite paperbacks and even the dinged-up numberplate, the only thing left of Keith’s bike after his accident a few weeks earlier.

Home, Keith thinks as he quietly pulls a glass from the cabinet and fills it from the sink. He takes a sip as he leans back against the counter and looks around. This was home.

Lance’s words echo in his mind before he ruthlessly shuts it down.

No, he wasn’t going to bring the things he’d seen at work in here. Not here in his safe space. Not here with Shiro, his husband.

He drains the last of his water and places the used glass gently into the sink. He’s careful not to make too much noise, knowing that Shiro was sleeping upstairs. He’s about to leave the kitchen to head to the downstairs bathroom when a note tacked to the fridge door catches his eye. It’s stuck under a magnet in the shape of a coffee cup spilling out love hearts. The words _I love you a latte_ adorn the smiling coffee mug and Keith can’t help the small, quiet chuckle that falls from his lips as he sees it and plucks away the note under it.

_Wake me when you get in. Love you xo._

Keith’s lips curve, a soft smile that accompanies the swell of warmth in his chest at his husband’s neatly scrawled words. He contemplates slipping upstairs and sliding into bed beside his husband before realising he needs to peel off his sweaty uniform and shower.

He opts to wander into the downstairs bathroom. He’s not quite ready to head upstairs yet, not quite ready to wake up his husband and have to force a nonchalance to his expression so that Shiro won’t try to probe too hard at the reason for the downturn to his mouth. Not even Black had shown his face at this hour, obviously too comfortable tucked up in bed alongside Shiro to move.

The spray of the water hits the tiles as steam slowly starts to fill the room. He ignores the reflection in the mirror as he tugs his hair loose from it’s tie and strips down. He knows there’s shadows under his eyes and his skin is pale, he doesn’t need another reminder. Instead, he steps into the spray, letting the hot, almost scalding water slosh over him, drenching his skin and his hair and washing away the tension of his shift, of that last mission, of battling the storm, the terrified catch of a young woman as she cried and the uneasy tones of Allura and Lance in the helicopter’s cabin as they worked to stem the tide of blood that leaked from the wounds and coated the helicopter’s floor.

The water streams over his body and he turns his face upwards, letting the jet stream hit his face. The slight sting of the water shifts his thoughts enough to make him reach for his shampoo, plucking up a small handful to massage into his hair. Sometimes the smell of blood and dust gets stuck on his skin and his nerves scream. It’s not until the almost sickly-sweet scent of strawberries fills the cubicle that he finally allows himself to open his eyes.

The exhaustion hits him with all the force of a freight train then.

One hand splays against the glass. His head hangs, water dripping and drops coat his lashes like sparkling stars. He thinks of Shiro, his husband, and of the churning twist low in his gut. He’s too tired to push it down, it leaks out of the corners of the compartment he mentally tries to shove it into and the fear catches him by the throat.

He can’t fall apart. He won’t.

A few minutes more and he rinses off, flicking off the water and shaking out the worse from his hair before stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around him. He doesn’t bother to dress, padding upstairs on silent, bare feet with only his towel wrapped around his hips.

In their bedroom, moonlight streams in from the sheer curtains, washing the room into hues of silver. On the bed, the dark shape that is Black curled at the foot of the bed, then the larger shape that is his husband. Shiro sleeps on his stomach, his bionic arm spread out over the centre of the bed as though searching for something in his sleep. Reaching for something.

Reaching for Keith.

Keith doesn’t hesitate a moment more, dumping the towel on the floor tiredly, telling himself he’ll make it up to Shiro later for leaving it there before he tugs back the sheet and climbs in. The mattress dips under his weight but Shiro doesn’t stir, not until Keith lifts the heavy metallic arm and snuggles under it, shuffling his way to his husband’s side and pressing up against him.

That causes his husband to huff in his sleep and shift. Keith presses a kiss to his bare shoulder and in the gloom, he sees Shiro’s eyes blink open.

“Hi,” Shiro mumbles sleepily.

Despite the slight slur to his words, Shiro’s arm tightens around Keith and draws him closer. A leg gets thrown over Keith’s hip for good measure.

“Hi,” Keith says back, already rocking into the warmth of the man he’s curled against. The warmth isn’t just physical, it’s deep and abiding and his eyes drift shut as that warmth around him sinks right down into his bones, into the parts of him that had been stained with cold and fear in the hours they’d been apart.

The twist in his gut eases. The warmth blooms harder.

He sighs contentedly, pressing his face into the hollow of his husband’s throat and soaking up the peace Shiro offers him. “Missed you.”

Shiro hums quietly, still half asleep. He’s almost on top of Keith now, a heavy pressure that threatens to suffocate him but Keith doesn’t bother to nudge him away. He needs this anchoring and Shiro clings to him just as tightly.

“Bad?” Shiro utters softly.

Keith knows if he looks up, he’ll see Shiro’s eyes glinting in the low light. At his feet, Black gets fed up with their shuffling and stands up, dropping onto the floor with a light thud. Keith seizes the opportunity to stretch out his legs, only to find Shiro’s thigh slipping between his knees lazily.

“The usual,” he manages to shrug dismissively. Shiro stills slightly, until Keith manages to wiggle an arm free and traces a fingertip down the side of his husband’s jaw. Shiro’s eyes immediately flutter closed and Keith hums, grateful that the hands of sleep still have a tight enough grip on the man he’s tucked into that it won’t be an effort for them to fall back into slumber.

Now is not the time to talk, if ever. Now he just wants to sleep, wrapped up as he is in the arms of the man who loves him.

Shiro’s head drops, his lips finding a still damp patch of skin on Keith’s neck as he offers Keith a sleepy kiss. Those hard arms wrap a little tighter around Keith, the anchor that keeps him grounded.

Keith sighs, and closes his eyes.

* * *

 

Saturdays were fast becoming Shiro’s favourite day of the week. Especially when it was a Saturday when his warm, sleepy husband didn’t have to rush off to a shift and remains curled up in their bed until the sun climbs its way well into the sky.

Long before he’d volunteered to sign himself up to the social experiment that resulted in his marriage, he had often dreaded weekends. They usually found him at home at a loose end with too much time to think. Too much time to ponder all the ways the life plan he’d laid out for himself at the tender age of seventeen had all come to naught on the seared wings of a prototype jet plane.

The Holts had always been there for him, even when Matt was struggling with his own recovery after the crash but Matt had a girlfriend for a while, a cute robotics major at the local university before she had moved away and they’d split. It was selfish but the months after their breakup had him grateful for Matt’s company. Shiro knew he was always welcome with Pidge and Hunk, and as fun as it was, he got tired of being the third wheel.

But now, he had everything he wanted. Painfully domestic, blissfully happy.

He works away in the spare room he’d turned into a home office, using the time Keith was catching up on sleep to catch up on work on his own. He was going through the copious amount of paperwork Allura and Hunk had handed over to him so that he could guide the launch of Altea Bionics but as the morning wanes on and the decisions he needs to make start to weigh on him, he notices the first streams of self-doubt starting to leak in.

There was so much to consider and launching a company and running it successfully was worlds away from his current day job teaching young cadets how to fly in high tech simulators. Allura and Hunk were putting so much trust in him to guide them into a new challenge, Keith and Lance too.

Was he really qualified to lead them like this? One bad decision would affect them all, all the people closest to him, everyone he cared about and he was only human. He’d been safe working as a contractor with the garrison, some responsibility to chaperone the cadets, but ultimately not really that much at all. There was always someone else to defer to, guidelines and rulebooks to follow, to adhere to. There wasn’t room to stretch outside the box and after his accident, that had been a comfort. They didn’t expect much from him, not anymore, and he had been content with that.

Until now.

Keith had told him once that he felt Shiro was what kept him grounded. His anchor when his emotions tried to spin away into a storm that would stop him from seeing the shoreline but Keith was Shiro’s light, the spark that ignited the fire inside him. He was the one that woke up the long latent drive inside Shiro that had laid dormant since his plane went down and he lost his arm. The drive and the determination that had made him once the best at what he did. The star pilot, on the fast track to being the youngest to lead a mission to space.

Shiro stares at the blueprints in front of him, the images shifting and blurring into a dull haze as he falls into memory. He doesn’t recall much of the moments leading up to the crash, just beats of terror and frustration. He remembers fighting to regain control in the storm, Matt’s wide eyes beside him, the horrifying yawn of metal sheering apart and the rain streaming in-

He inhales sharply when a wet nose suddenly nudges against his cheek and the brush of fur strokes across his face. He blinks, falling out of the flashback with a thud only to look down and realise the stylus he’d held in his hand was now snapped in two. Black perches in the middle of the desk, his backside on the keyboard as he stares at Shiro with two wide golden eyes. His tail swishes around his feet.

Shiro stares back.

A beat passes. Gold bores into grey.

Shiro drops the two parts of the broken stylus onto the desk and the soft thud it makes causes him to release his breath in a rough exhale. He tilts his head slightly and doesn’t fight the small smile that curves his lips. “Thanks, Black.”

The cat regards him silently for a moment longer before leaning into the hand Shiro raises to scratch behind his ear. The loud rumbling purr that starts up from deep inside his chest immediately soothes Shiro, letting the overwrought beating of his heart to settle back into its normal patterns.

Shiro pats him until Black decides he’s had enough and hops down, stalking out of the room to leave Shiro alone. He doesn’t waste any more time, shoving aside the tablet and the broken stylus and climbing to his feet. He still feels vaguely unsettled and finds his way crossing the hallway to stand in the doorway of their bedroom, noting his husband’s deep and even breathing as he sprawls virtually naked in the middle of their bed, still deeply asleep after another long shift Shiro knows he won’t want to talk about.

Shiro itches to wake him, to run a hand over those enticing bare limbs and lean lines. Dark hair spreads across his pillow, long dark lashes against pale cheeks.

So beautiful. So _his._

He lets his gaze roam freely, aware that his husband’s breathing has shifted ever so slightly. Shiro has to hold back his small smile, watching the way his husband’s body comes out of sleep. The lean lines become sharper, his breaths not as deep. His eyes don’t open for a long moment yet but his voice is faintly amused when he speaks.

“You’re being creepy.”

Keith lifts a hand to wipe the spot of drool against his chin then shifts and pushes himself up to prop his head on one hand. He blinks at Shiro through a curtain of messy hair and Shiro is once against knocked breathless at just how much he loves this husband of his.

“Nothing creepy about admiring my beautiful man as he sleeps,” Shiro tells him softly, leaning against the doorframe. It’s amazing how those dark eyes just has to connect with his for the strange, unsettled sensations that flittered through him moments earlier to simply dissipate as though on a cool breeze.

“A little creepy,” Keith insists, lips twitching when Shiro’s warm gaze doesn’t stop roaming over him.

“Hmm. What do you prefer instead?”

“How about you just come over here?”

Keith leans up, gathering his pillow and shoving it back under his chest. He flops back down but he’s shuffled over enough that the space beside him is now an invitation.

Shiro doesn’t need to be told twice.

He crosses the room in two steps, crawling back into bed and snuggling up close. His bionic hand snakes across the sheets to land against Keith’s lower back. The sheets bunch there and he’s tempted to tug them down to expose the simple black boxer briefs he know his husband favours.

He finds himself smiling, letting the bloom of affection and love that rises up inside him push away the disconcerting doubts that tried to take root in his mind earlier. He won’t give them a focus, instead he’ll revel in the love between them instead.

Shiro leans over to press a kiss to one warm shoulder. He feels the vibration of Keith’s hum under his lips. “You know, I think it’s our one-week anniversary today.”

Keith squints at him. “What?”

“One week.”

“One we- oh.”

Shiro chuckles as the realisation dawns on his husband’s face but he clarifies it anyway. “Since we redid our vows.”

Keith’s gaze intensifies. “Then it’s been three months since we met,” he says softly. “Three months married.”

They stare at each other in the silence, both of them thinking about the whirlwind that their relationship has been, the commitment they’d made on nothing but a hope.

Shiro gives Keith’s shoulder another kiss. “I think I’m going to start calling you hubby.”

Keith’s eyes narrow at that. “Oh, hell no you're not.”

Shiro barks a laugh then muffles his humour into the hollow of Keith’s throat. He can’t help shuffling close. Keith squirms in mock indignation against him.

“Mm, okay what about sweet cheeks then?”

“No.”

“Snookums?”

“Nope.”

“Angel pie?”

“I’ll kick your ass,” Keith grumbles but it’s without any heat. Shiro grins wider, enjoying teasing his husband far too much. Keith likes to act he’s unimpressed but Shiro knows how the corners of his lips quiver when he’s struck gold.

He presses closer and mouths along Keith’s neck. He whispers breathlessly, heavy on the seduction. “Pookie?”

Keith snorts rudely and swats at him. “Shiro… no.”

“Kitty cat? No, wait, Keithy cat. Yeah, I like that one-”

“Oh my god,” Keith finally manages to roll away in disgust, leaving Shiro to snicker into his pillow. “What’s gotten into you this morning?”

Shiro props his head up on his hand and leers at his husband. “You, if I’m playing my cards right.”

Keith’s eyebrows rise slightly. “You didn’t have enough last night?”

“It won’t ever be enough.”

He reaches out to tug Keith closer, rolling them over until Keith is nestled securely under him. He drags a palm up Keith’s side, savouring the way Keith’s eyelashes flutter weakly against his cheeks. His hair is a dark messy cloud on the sheets and his lips are so pink and inviting that Shiro leans down to give him a kiss, only to find a hand clamped over his mouth holding him back in place.

“Uh, Keith?” he mumbles in confusion against Keith’s hand.

“Morning breath,” Keith grunts, withdrawing his hand and turning his face away with a grimace.

Shiro chuckles softly and nuzzles against the underside of Keith’s jaw lightly. He’s rewarded by Keith tilting his head back to give him better access and the soft hum of pleasure vibrating through his skin.

“I’ve been up for a while,” Shiro tells him. Long enough that he’s had time to workout, shower and have breakfast.

Keith makes a small huffing noise and shoves at Shiro’s shoulder half-heartedly. “Well, I haven’t.”

Shiro raises his head, playfully smirking at his husband. “I don’t need your mouth for where I want you.”

“Is that why you were trying out the pet names?”

“No, I just thought they were cute.”

“Good,” Keith grabs a fistful of Shiro’s hair and grips tight. The pull against his scalp prevents him from dipping his head to nuzzle along Keith’s jaw. Shiro catches his gaze and the intensity glittering behind those eyes makes his breath catch. “Because you know you don’t need to come up with pet names to have what you want. Besides I’m-“

Shiro cuts him off with a small roll of his eyes. “-not cute, I know.”

Keith’s grin is wolfish, his teeth bared in satisfaction. “You’re learning. Okay, but seriously, let me up.”

“Why?” Shiro tells himself it doesn’t sound like a whine.

Keith gives his hair another tug then squirms out from under him. “I gotta take a leak.”

Shiro rolls back, admiring the way Keith’s snug black briefs cling to the shape of his ass as he crosses the room.

“You’re going to go brush your teeth, aren’t you?” he calls out after him.

He laughs to himself when Keith waves a dismissive hand over his shoulder at him then opts to make the most of the short reprieve. He’s been lying beside Keith thinking steamy thoughts for almost an hour since the sun came up and he just wants to get his hands on his husband… or his hands on him, he really doesn’t care at this point. He just wants Keith close and curled around him and wallow in the knowledge he’s exactly where his heart belongs.

He pushes aside the rest of the sheets and shoves down his shorts then kicks them away, just in time for Keith to walk back into their bedroom as naked as the day he was born. Shiro takes in the sight of him, his lean lines, his tied back hair and his gaze hungry.

“Well, hello,” Shiro murmurs, more to himself as he settles himself back against the pillows expectantly. The room is still dark despite the height of the sun in the sky, thick, heavy curtains pulled across to help Keith sleep longer on the weeks he’s on night shifts but Shiro almost wishes they were open now to spill the light across his body.

Keith’s eyes go dark as he pauses by the bed. “Fuck,” he mutters, and his gaze rakes hotly over Shiro’s chest and further down his body. Despite the scars his skin still bears, Keith still seems to find him desirable in a way Shiro wasn’t sure he would ever feel again.

“Come here,” he manages to say thickly, holding out a hand to his husband.

The motion seems to jolt Keith into action, and he wastes little time clambering onto the bed and crushing their mouths together. He tastes like mint, making Shiro laugh quietly to himself.

“You didn’t have to,” Shiro murmurs into his mouth. “I don’t care.”

“Gross,” Keith mutters between hard kisses. “I do.”

Shiro laughs again into the kiss, dragging his hands up Keith’s bare back to tangle them into his hair. He can feel the press of Keith’s answering smile against his lips, the warmth of a shared moment, the bond between them. He’s never loved someone so all encompassing like he does with Keith. All his faults and sharp edges, all his warmth and passion, Shiro loves it all, even the parts Keith doesn’t really love himself. Every bit of him, Shiro adores.

He presses into the kiss, tracing Keith’s mouth open with his tongue and moaning softly in the back of his throat when Keith gives him access. He hooks a leg around him, drawing Keith closer, letting his body show Keith what his mouth is too occupied to say and they kiss for a long time, long dreamy kisses that make him feel like time stands still.

“Keith,” he breathes when they break apart long enough to get air. Keith’s hand is wrapped around his wrist tightly, strong fingers pinning him.

“Yeah?”

Shiro reaches under his pillow, fingers scrambling for the small tube there. He tugs it out, handing to his husband wordlessly.

Keith smirks gently in response, flicking the cap open and setting to work. Shiro hums appreciatively as Keith’s slicked fingers wander, finding their target and coaxing him open without too much effort and just as he did the night before, Shiro pushes his husband onto his back, throws one leg over and sinks down.

“God,” he groans as Keith fills him. His skin feels like starlight, sparking and warm and he’s hot and cold all over. He loves this feeling, hovering over his husband like this. Keith looks up at him in adoration, hands gripping his hips tightly as he encourages Shiro to move.

“I love when you ride me,” Keith says breathlessly when Shiro starts to rock. Keith’s hands trails over his abdomen, teasing and brushing at his skin, skimming a nipple. Shiro feels heavy and aching, dying for friction and he shifts his angle enough to brush his tip over Keith’s belly. “Yeah,” Keith hisses, eyes dark. “Yeah that’s it.”

“Keith,” Shiro sighs, head thrown back as he loses himself to the sensations. Keith lets him have total control, allowing him to shift and grind how he wants, letting him bounce and palm himself until he finds the right angle to have Keith nudge that spot inside him that he lets out a final shout and shoots thick white ribbons against his husband’s skin.

Keith doesn’t let him catch his breath, taking advantage of his weakened state to flip them over. Shiro quivers, his body sensitive as he’s pressed back into the sheets, whimpering helplessly as Keith sets his own pace, drilling into his body to chase his own release. It’s not until Keith, sweat slicked and shuddering, looks down at him through a mass of thick dark hair that Shiro feels heat flood him. Keith’s voice echoes in his ears, telling him he loves him.

Later, after they’ve pulled themselves away from their bed and enjoyed a lazy breakfast on the patio with Black winding around their ankles, Shiro reaches his hand across the table to thread his fingers through Keith’s. Their rings gleam dully in the dappled sunlight, dark bands unmistakable against their pale skin. It still makes a warm thrill roll through Shiro when he thinks about the changes in his life the last few months have brought, the contentment and the joy. He finds himself smiling sloppily at Keith as he holds a mug of coffee in his free hand and tries to read the news updates on the tablet in front of him. It makes Shiro warm knowing Keith would rather put down his mug to swipe to the next page rather than relinquishing the grip they have on each other.

It’s nice to know they’re both on the same page with that.

He gives Keith’s fingers a squeeze, causing Keith to glance up at him from under his hair. He’s tied it back today, a messy knot at the back of his head but dark strands still cover his face.

“Hey,” Shiro says softly. “I love you.”

Keith smiles back at him, almost shyly. He squeezes his hand too. “I love you, too.”

“I know it’s not really your kind of thing, but I’m looking forward to the gala tomorrow night.”

Keith takes a sip of his coffee, glancing away but it’s not enough to hide the slight wriggle of distaste his nose makes. “Yeah? Why is that?”

“Well, it’s going to be a lot of people you know there. Are you ready for me to meet all your work colleagues?”

Keith lifts his shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “You’ve already met the ones that count.”

“Your team.”

“Yeah. I mean, aside from Lance and Allura there’s Trigel and you know Rolo now since you’re going to give him a prosthetic like yours and Nyma and Sven-“

“Sven,” Shiro interrupts. “What’s the story there?”

Keith frowns. “What? What story?”

“Was there… do you guys have a history? At the garrison open day, that was him, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, he was there.”

“He seemed to look sad every time he looked at you.”

Keith’s frown deepens. “What?”

Shiro has to bite back a chuckle. God, Keith has such an innocence when it comes to realising his own attractiveness. It makes him wonder if they had met under normal circumstances how hard it would have been to make Keith fall in love with him.

Shiro opts to shift the subject, leading it back to what he originally wanted to say. If there was a history there with Sven, Shiro wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It was all in the past anyway, wasn’t it?

“I liked having that glimpse into your world,” Shiro starts to say, only to be interrupted when Black decides he’s had enough time on the ground and leaps nimbly up onto the table.

“Nuh, uh, bad kitty,” Shiro tries to shoo from away from sniffing at their coffees and empty plates. Black gives him a disdainful sniff then walks to one end of the table and settles in comfortably. Shiro narrows his eyes at the cat, ignoring Keith’s soft laughter beside him. “Black! Get down.”

The cat ignores him and Shiro huffs. “Fine.”

“At least he’s not sitting there licking his butthole,” Keith says only to widen his eyes a second later and point accusingly at Shiro. “Don’t even say it!”

Shiro laughs into his coffee, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Your terrible jokes. Especially the dad ones. You know you’re not even supposed to make those until you’re actually a dad, right?”

“Maybe I’d better go adopt some teenager since I don’t know anything about infant care then.”

“You can’t, you’re only seven,” Keith retorts with a smirk.

Shiro’s bark of laughter is enough to send the colourful parrots in the nearby tree fluttering away. Black eyes him warily and Keith grins at him, smug and beautiful as always.

“Anyway,” Shiro manages to get out once his laughter subsides. “Back to my original point-“

“Here we go,” Keith teases, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“First of all, rude. Second of all, I was just trying to say I’m looking forward to tonight. To being out with you, in your world, since you got to see some of mine at the open day.”

“Your _old_ world.”

“My old world,” Shiro concedes after a moment.

“Guess this gala thing might end up being closer to your new world when Altea Bionics officially launches. Wining and dining and putting on a show.”

“Is that what tonight is going to be?”

“Well, yeah,” Keith shrugs. “It’s basically a fundraiser really. Normally we all have to scrimp and save to even buy tickets but since Alfor decided to come to the party-”

“He’s coming? I thought he was too unwell?”

“I don’t know if he’s actually coming, but it’s his funds on behalf of Allura getting us there. I.. I tried to pay Allura back but she insisted. Told me to save it for the auction instead.”

“An auction huh? That might be fun.”

Keith pulls a face that makes it clear he thinks it will be anything but. Shiro finally lets go of his hand to lean back in his seat. The morning breeze ruffles his hair lightly and the sounds of kids playing in the local park carries distantly to them on the wind.

He looks at Keith, never tiring of drinking him in.

“You know what I’m looking forward to the most?” Shiro finally says. “More than the free champagne and canapes though?”

“What?”

“My husband in a tux.”

Keith surprises him by chuckling then running a sharp eye over him. “Ditto.”

Shiro hums quietly to himself and stands up, walking behind Keith to place his hands on his shoulders. He leans down to murmur against his ear, fighting the teasing smile that threatens.

“I can’t wait to peel it off you later tonight.” He deepens his voice. _“Hubby.“_

Keith groans, leaving Shiro to laugh to himself as he walks back inside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've started new meds and it feels like I'm writing through a fog so it's taking me so much longer to get these updates out. I have so much more of this story to tell, so thank you for being patient & sticking with me <3

The house rings with more laughter than it has in years when Keith comes to visit. Even more since he married a stranger and brought Shiro into their fold.

Kolivan hadn’t agreed with Keith’s choice to go through with the experiment once he had been chosen. Something about it felt too manufactured, too manipulative but the more he tried to discourage Keith, the more stubborn Keith had become.

In the end, Kolivan had no choice but to swallow his reservations and allow his nephew to follow his own path.

After all, he wasn’t a child anymore.

Kolivan can’t tear his gaze away from the smile that curves his nephew’s mouth now, a smile that had been too rare and careful in the years since they had lost Antok. A smile that had always turned slightly brittle when focused on himself.

He doesn’t blame Keith. He can’t. But Kolivan does blame himself.

So many secrets, so much knowledge he’d hoarded to himself like a dragon protecting its jewels. Secrets that weren’t his to share, no matter how desperately Keith had railed at him for answers.

And railed he did, from the moment he could speak, he had fought and demanded answers, only for Kolivan to set his jaw and turn away, giving him nothing but silence until resentment brewed thick in the air between them.

Keith didn’t let his guard down with him as he did with Thace and who could blame him?

Certainly not Kolivan.

The day is bright and sunny, a cool breeze making its way inland off the distant ocean. Too nice a day not to set themselves outside on the open deck overlooking the backyard. They’d bought this house only a year after Keith had been entrusted to them, the small apartment he’d shared with Thace and Antok previous to that nowhere near large enough to house a rambunctious toddler as well. The two men he’d sworn his life to had never complained, but Kolivan never could quite shake the guilt he felt in upending their lives like that.

None of them had planned to raise a child. But the three of them had done so without complaint. And they loved him. They couldn’t replace his mother, but they’d loved Keith as though he was their own just the same.

A small burst of laughter around the table has Kolivan drifting out of memory and back into the present. He wants to join in but his jaw is too rigid, too closed off with all the secrets he has to hold inside him.

Secrets so old he’s not entirely sure they’re secrets anymore.

He listens to Thace’s familiar voice, falling into the gentle flow of teasing he bestows on Keith. Thace had found it the easiest out of all of them to straddle that line between mentor, uncle and friend with Keith but then Keith didn’t look at Thace as though he held all the answers to his universe.

Kolivan lets himself follow that sweet warmth, drawing him back into the conversation around the table.

“It’s not true,” Keith protests, the creases around his eyes betraying the chuckle he’s trying to hold back. He turns to Shiro and shakes his head. “It’s not!”

“Sure,” Shiro says agreeably, his own eyes dancing with humour.

Thace leans over to Shiro and whispers conspiratorially. “And you know what? Ten years old and our only option was to send him to play non-contact sports."

Keith rolls his eyes as Shiro snorts a peculiar kind of laugh into his drink.

Kolivan experiences the pull against the corner of his mouth when he catches Thace’s eye. They’re alight with mischief and the glow warms a place inside Kolivan that had been dull with worry for a long time.

“Non-contact, huh?” Shiro finally says. He doesn't bother to hide his snicker.

“It was that ferocious temper of his,” Thace nods to Shiro sagely, and Shiro laughs slightly louder. It earns him a kick under the table from his husband.

“Hey,” Shiro complains, shoulders still trembling with the laughter that catches him.

“Traitor,” Keith growls.

Thace looks at Shiro knowingly, raising an eyebrow. “See?”

Keith huffs in mock irritation, quickly soothed when Shiro shifts closer and throws an arm around Keith’s shoulders, drawing him in close. Keith leans into his new husband with the ease and comfort that spoke of lifetimes together instead of a few months.

“You know he’s only making this up to get a rise out of me, right?” Keith says, leaning his head against Shiro’s wide shoulder.

“Well, he’s doing a good job,” Shiro replies. “You’re biting.”

“Nah,” Keith smiles then snakes his own arm between the chair and his husband’s back, curving his arm around Shiro’s waist. It makes Shiro tuck him even closer and smile down at him. Kolivan sees the soft warmth in Keith’s eye, an open softness he still can’t quite believe he’s seeing from his nephew. Keith gazes up at Shiro and whispers. “I just like hearing you laugh.”

A small silence settles over them, his nephew and his new husband apparently lost in a world of their own for the space of a few heartbeats. A pang of an emotion Kolivan hasn’t felt in a long time pushes against his chest and his throat feels abruptly tight at the sight. There’s a maturity there to Keith now, something Kolivan hadn’t realised had been growing as vibrantly as it had. Keith had forged his independence as soon as he was able to, striking out on his own the moment he settled into employment steady enough to put a roof over his head, but he was still often times unpredictable and headstrong. Kolivan could forgive him for that. He was still young after all, but seeing him now with Shiro was like seeing all of his nephew’s ruffled feathers finally smoothed down, the sharp edges to him softened. There was an assuredness in Keith that hadn’t been there before, a calm at the centre of him that Kolivan knows would lean into an iron core should he ever need it.

Kolivan shifts slightly in his seat, ignoring the urge to rub at his chest and across the table, Thace catches his eye once again and there's a small incline of his head. 

Thace sees it too.

“They’re so good together,” Thace says with an almost wistful smile when the newlyweds later disappear back inside the house to replenish their drinks. Kolivan can hear the faint echo of their chatter and the thump of their boots as they move around. Out on the deck, the breeze plucks at the silver strands of his braid. The sound of a child screeching in delight a few doors down carries on the air, making him think once again that this isn’t the place for just himself and Thace anymore yet reluctant to shift away from the memories the house contained in its bones.

He had never considered himself a sentimental fool before but as the years spiral on and he faces a future alone, he’s all too aware that soon memories are all he might have left.

Memories and secrets and a heart heavy with guilt.

Kolivan grips his glass.

“Yes,” he finally answers. He shifts his gaze away only for it to travel back to his long time lover’s face. He doesn’t hold back the rumble inside his chest at Thace’s weighty gaze.

He feels the pressure of those eyes on him, the pricking at his skin and the ever-present desire to give in and let it all go nips harshly at him once again.

He’s weary. He feels far older than the lines on his face show to the world.

Thace hums something warm. His smile turns a little indulgent. One hand lifts to prop up his chin, long fingers resting against his sideburns. “Doesn’t it remind you of someone?”

It does but he hadn’t wanted to face it. He still doesn’t. How much is genetic, how much is circumstance? He sees so much of _her_ in him, but nothing of himself. Nothing he cares to face at least.

He shifts in his seat, casting his gaze away, over the yard and the tall tree in its centre with the sprawling branches. Remnants of a small cubby house still sit in it's branches, a left over relic of Keith's childhood. How many hours had Keith spent in that tree, high up in the branches with tears streaking down over chubby cheeks after another round begging for Kolivan to tell him something, anything about the mother who walked away from him.

Keith never understood that it hurt Kolivan just as much to keep those secrets. But it was his weight to bear, and his alone.

“Koli.”

The sound of his name in Thace’s soft tone should have been a balm on his heart. He allows his eyes to fall closed, committing the sound to memory before he opens them again. He struggles to find the strength for the words. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Thace shakes his head, an exasperated smile curving his mouth. “Have I ever told you that the two of you are as stubborn as each other?”

In spite of the ache in his chest, Kolivan chuckles roughly. “Only every other day.”

Thace’s smile gets wider and Kolivan traces his eyes over that smile, cataloguing it for the lonely years ahead. His throat feels too thick to speak but he’s never been good with words anyway. He’s a man of action, he always has been but perhaps it was the years yawning between them, the decades of history they shared, the wearing down of his bones as age advanced it’s slow much towards death but he finds himself reaching out for Thace. He places a heavy, square palm against the other man’s cheek.

There would be a day too soon when he wouldn’t be able to do this. A day when he wouldn’t be able to look into the sharp hazel eyes that knew him so well, just as he was no longer able to look into Antok’s cool blue any longer.

He had been jealous once. Jealous of the extra years Antok and Thace had shared together before they’d welcomed him into their fold but he’d never thought it would be repaid like this. These extra years without Antok wasn’t what he wanted. How could he ever be expected to live without either of them? He’s not sure he has the strength.

His throat bobs on a dry swallow and Thace’s gaze turns softer again.

“Not yet, Koli,” Thace whispers hoarsely, his own hand rising up to cover Kolivan’s palm on his cheek. “Not for a long time yet.”

* * *

 

Shiro leaves Keith in the kitchen and pads through on silent feet to the living room. The old floorboards creak softly under his feet but he ignores the sound as he walks. He’s comfortable here. He’s been welcomed into this house and this family with a careful ease and he knows he’s here to stay.

He pauses in front of the bookshelf, lips curving as he runs his gaze over the framed photos that line the shelves. He can’t really admit it to Keith without his husband’s cheeks and the tips of his ears burning bright pink, but the photos of Keith rounded with the chubbiness of toddlerhood are his favourite. One in particular where Keith wears the same thick, dark crop of hair, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his jaw set in an almost mutinous glare at the camera. Kolivan must have taken that, Shiro thinks idly. The tension between Keith and his uncle was subtle enough to be missed from the outside, but all too easy for Shiro to read now that he’s learned Keith’s tells and quirks so well.

But that's how families worked, isn’t it? Not always sunshine and roses and personalities that blended well. Sometimes there were rough edges, energy too similar not to buzz and clash against the other.

Shiro had been a bit like that with his own grandfather.

He reaches a hand out, the movement of his bionic hand so smooth and natural now after the polished tweaking Hunk had given him in the latest upgrade it had once or twice made him blink at the metallic fingers where he’d almost expected to see flesh. Crazy to think he could ever forget the trauma of losing a limb, and yet sometimes there were moments he felt nothing but whole. There had even been chatter about installing new components to his arm, making it somehow _more_ than just a copy of a human hand but Shiro had quickly shut down those options, at least for himself.

Perhaps later, once their fledging company was more established and his ties to the Garrison were finally severed, their team could branch out into more adventurous territories.

He turns his attention to a new photo frame and he picks it up. It's a photo of Keith holding up a certificate of some kind with the three burly men who are his uncles behind him. They’re all smiling, even Kolivan.

Even Keith.

He hadn’t noticed this one on their first visit, tucked away as it was behind the others. He wonders briefly why that is, the moment of four smiling faces captured in time. The pride in the faces of Keith’s uncles was unmistakable and Keith looked like he was maybe ten or twelve. A school fair, perhaps.

“What are you doing in here?”

Shiro looks up from the frame, glancing over his shoulder to where his husband stands in the doorway. He’s come a long way from the kid in the photo. There is no denying that Keith has grown into a man in his own right.

Fierce and compassionate and beautiful beyond compare.

Shiro figures he’s more than a little biased on the last one. He’s allowed to be, it’s his husband after all. 

Husband. 

He still feels like he needs to pinch himself that he’s been this lucky. That the experiment they'd entered into had matched them so perfectly. Perhaps they really had been made for each other. Perhaps the universe owed them this. Maybe in another life, they hadn't found each other and the stars spinning around them were making up for it now.

How else could it be this perfect?

It’s an effort to clear his throat long enough to speak. He holds up the photo frame by way of explanation, giving Keith a slightly sheepish smile. He hopes that Keith doesn’t mind he was snooping.

“Sometimes I forget what a cute kid you were.”

Keith rolls his eyes from the doorway. “Yeah, and I’m sure you were all buck teeth and braces and with glasses the size of coke bottle bottoms.”

Shiro lets his eyebrows climb. “Did Pidge tell you about that? I’m going to kill her.”

“Nah,” Keith drawls, eyes dancing. “It was Matt.”

“Oh. Well, that doesn’t surprise me. He’s always been jealous of my good looks,” Shiro deadpans, causing Keith to snort again before he tosses his head back to laugh. He turns back and pins Shiro with a look that's too warm not to sink into his blood.

“I can’t imagine you as anything other than perfect.”

Keith says it casually, so casually that the way Shiro’s breath catches a little in his chest seems out of place for such a simple statement. It’s not so much the words he says, but the way his voice rings with an unshakable confidence. As though he believes it with his whole heart.

Perfect.

Shiro had been a lot of things before the crash. Driven, ambitious, hungry to prove himself. He’d worked hard, he’d been one of the best, but he’d been far from perfect.

Keith peels himself from the doorway and slides close, his feet padding over the worn rug under his feet and Shiro watches him approach. The tug against the inside of his chest makes him want to rub against it, anything to ease it.

“Keith-“

“We’re not getting into that again,” Keith interrupts before Shiro can get any further. It’s already an argument they’ve had a few times before. It worries him sometimes, the unshakable devotion Keith has to him. Not who he is now, but to who he was once.

He’s not that person anymore but somehow, Keith still looks at him as though he is.

Keith steps closer, snaking an arm around Shiro’s waist comfortably and leaning in against him. Shiro moves his arm to mimic the motion, letting the warmth of his husband seep into him. He pushes aside the unease and breathes in the faint scent of strawberries from Keith’s hair.

It never fails to warm him from the inside and this time when he speaks, Shiro’s voice is clearer. 

“Do you think Kolivan and Thace would let us have a copy of this?”

The frown on Keith’s face is unexpected but he takes the frame from Shiro’s hand to study it for himself. His expression surprisingly hard to decipher.

Shiro presses his palm to the small of Keith’s back and hopes he hasn’t misjudged. “We could put it in the lounge room at home. Next to our wedding photo,” he says softly.

Keith is quiet for a moment, staring down at the image in his hands. It feels like a long time until he speaks.

“Next to the photos of your parents and your grandfather.”

It seems fitting. It’s their history, the people where they both came from. Two families come together to become their foundation. It hasn’t sat right with Shiro that Keith doesn’t have photos of his history at the townhouse but he hadn’t found the right way to broach it. They both had losses, they both had parts they’d rather not remember but the good… the good, Shiro wanted Keith to take.

“Yes,” he finally answers.

Keith makes a small sound that Shiro doesn’t get a chance to explore before Keith surprises him by turning into him and landing square against his chest. He rocks back on one foot under the force of it, letting out a small _‘oof_ ’ at the weight of his husband. Keith throws his arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly before pulling back to plant a rough, hard kiss against his mouth.

Shiro isn’t so dazed that he misses the shine in Keith’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Keith says softly.

Shiro gazes down at him, this man he gets to share his life with. His home with.

“They should be there,” he says, reaching up to absently brush a metallic thumb over Keith’s cheek. “We wouldn’t be who we are without them. Wouldn’t be where we are.”

The air turns heavy then, the shine in Keith’s eyes turning into something else. It’s on the tip of Shiro’s tongue to broach the subject of the rest of Keith’s family. His mother, his father… his half-sisters, but instinct tells him Keith would shut that down quick enough to make his head spin.

Instead, he allows his fingertip to trace over Keith’s jaw, savouring the way Keith’s lips part softly. Beautiful lips still slightly swollen from their long, lazy kisses earlier this morning. He smiles softly, thinking about the warmth of their private moments together.

“Remember how you tried to jump my bones the first night we were here?”

Keith’s gently parted lips snap shut and he frowns, pulling his head away from Shiro’s touch. Shiro experiences a brief flash of disappointment at the way Keith steps away, putting a modicum of space between them.

It’s almost worth it to see the delicious way his eyes spark.

“That’s not how I remember it.”

“Isn’t it? You don’t remember waking me in the middle of the night?”

Keith’s eyes narrow. The spark there gets a little sharper. His cheeks redden slightly too, making Shiro chuckle deep in his chest. That night had been a revelation in so many ways but none more so in the way Keith suddenly grew a little shy under the roof he’d once spent his childhood in. It hadn’t stopped them from coming together anyway but later Keith had sworn they wouldn’t be repeating the performance.

He was too loud not to attract attention anyway, but Shiro still enjoyed the chance to tease him.

“So, no repeat performance is what you’re trying to tell me?”

Keith makes a noise at the back of his throat that could only be a growl and stalks to the doorway that leads back to the kitchen. Shiro laughs quietly to himself but his laughter dies when Keith pauses and looks back at him.

The sunlight streaming in from the windows catches against his hair, crowning him in gold and sharp relief.

“Shiro?”

Shiro cocks his head. “Yeah?”

Keith glances away, his gaze falling to the frame he holds in his hands before sliding back.  “This is real, isn’t it? You’re real.”

Shiro smiles at him softly, the vulnerability in Keith’s face is only there for a second before he shutters it away but Shiro sees it. It’s a glimpse into a part of Keith that only Shiro gets to see.

“Yeah, baby. I'm real. I promise you it’s real.”

\--

They stand on the porch when it’s time for Keith and Shiro to leave.

Thace would have preferred them to stay longer, all day and all evening if he had the choice. He wasn’t ashamed to admit how he missed Keith, despite Keith's firm and sometimes tiresome nagging about Thace's health issues. Thace had found himself thoroughly enjoying Shiro’s company too. 

Whatever the experiment had set out to achieve, it certainly seemed to have found success with Shiro and Keith.

They watch as the couple bicker playfully on the short walk to where Shiro's squat black car is parked in the driveway. Thace can’t hear what they’re saying but Keith seems to steal the keys and directs Shiro to the passenger side. They wave once more before getting in then the car is backing out and disappearing down the street.

Thace waits until the car is long out of sight before he turns to his spouse.

“You didn’t tell him.”

It takes a long moment for Kolivan to answer.

“No."

"Why?"

"You know what Keith is like. He would only take it on himself.”

"You can't keep them apart forever. Sooner or later-"

"No."

“And if she tries to contact him?”

Kolivan’s expression turns hard. “Then we’ll deal with it ourselves.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice I've changed the name of the organization Keith & Co work for from Careflight to LifeFlight, basically because LifeFlight is a free service to the public (unlike CareFlight) in RL and in the fic... plus I got to hang with one of the REAL LifeFlight crews earlier on in the week and it was amazing and even though this mafs version of LifeFlight is totally fictional with some heavy creative licensing, I still kinda want to honour them in this fic because they're amazing. 
> 
> Also I had originally planned to post less chapters (but longer) with this fic but the way my time to write is shaping up, it's better for me to work on smaller chunks at a time. 
> 
> OH and there's a big chunk of Allurance in this update.
> 
> Thank you again to everyone still reading and commenting and generally joining me in this AU <3
> 
> ********  
> TW(?): Mild Allurance smut towards end of first part

Allura hums as she moves about their small kitchen. It’s been a few weeks since she officially moved in and not much has really changed. She’s always felt more at home here in this comfortable apartment than she ever did in her father’s sprawling mansion. She supposes it’s the love that surrounds her here. It’s close and warm, laying against her shoulders with a subtle weight so that she can never forget that she’s loved. Here, she’s adored and treasured for who she is, not for who someone wants her to be.

The front door opens just as the orange wash of the sunset stains the landscape outside the kitchen window. She loves the view here over the city, the rolling hills dotted with homes and trees. Their city was a green one, lush and sprawling, except during springtime when the Jacarandas washed the landscape with pots of lavender that stood out in stark contrast to the multihued versions of green and gold.

She turns to see Lance shuffling inside, already kicking off his boots at the door and hanging up his backpack on the hook on the wall. He’s still in uniform, although his patches have been removed showing he’s off duty and he doesn’t hesitate to pluck at the buttons of his shirt as he wanders to her side, as though he can’t get the uniform off fast enough. She knows how he feels. There was something liberating about shucking off that uniform. It was symbolic in a way. Throwing it into the wash was like of throwing away the traumas they’d seen right along with it.

It didn’t always work that way of course, but they liked to pretend it did.

“Hi,” she says softly as he approaches. He looks tired but he forces a smile and his blue eyes light up the way they always do when they land on her. Then he places a warm hand against the small of her back and leans in to kiss her cheek.

“Hi, princess,” he murmurs before leaning back. He goes to step away but she curls her arms around him and tugs him closer. He smirks a little but he doesn’t try to pull away. When she tilts her face up for a proper kiss, he happily obliges and she lets herself fall into the soft press of his lips.

“Long day?” she asks and he hums in response, moving just enough to bury his face into her silver hair. She holds him for a moment, running a slim hand up his back and letting his muscles ease under her touch. They’re going to have to get used to this, to the separate hours, the separate shifts, the separate lives now that her contract with LifeFlight is winding up. She has only a handful of shifts left, then it will mean working alongside her father and Shiro to ensure that Shiro and Hunk have what they need.

It will be a far cry from strapping herself into a harness and winching out of a helicopter on the edge of a cliff, or placing injured patients onto life support on the side of the road before they’re flown to hospital. She’ll miss the variety of the job, the challenges they face and the places they see but she’ll miss working alongside her fiancé the most.

She’s tempted to ask him all the details of his shift, what missions he flew, if he had to flip a coin with Keith over who got to sit in the pilot seat or if they’d had the decision taken out of their hands by Trigel but it was the weekend, and the first time in a while they’d both managed to secure it off and she knew he was as keen as she was to put it behind them and just relax together.

Besides, despite the fact they were rostered off, they still had the fundraising gala to attend the next night. A night to celebrate the work the emergency services did, and a night to try and raise more funds for the various rescue organizations. LifeFlight Rescue was a free service to the public, but it meant they relied heavily on fundraising and grants from the city.

“I’m glad the weekend officially starts now,” Lance says when he finally straightens. He leaves his arms looped loosely around her but for the first time glances around the apartment. Allura flushes slightly when his eyebrow raises. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” he teases.

She presses her smile against his shoulder. The apartment smells like a floral paradise thanks to the large bunches of fresh flowers that sit in the centre of the table, on the kitchen counter and on the side tables. It might be slightly overdone but she’d risen early that morning, slipping out of their unit before dawn and making her way down to the wholesale flower markets by the river. It was one of her favourite things to do, surrounding herself with beauty that was as fleeting and as fragile as every petal. They reminded her to live in the moment, to savour the colour and scents while she could and while they were short lived, they were beautiful and soothing.

And sometimes, Lance would stumble out of bed to join her, and they would wander the marketspace together, takeaway coffees in hand and a small bot trundling after them on the pavement to carry their selection. He would smile at her, indulgent and still sleepy, happy just to be with her as she bartered and chatted to the vendors that had grown to know her well, then they would come home once the sun had climbed into the sky and the world was waking up, and on the days when they were lucky and they weren’t rostered on, she would pull him back to bed and let him love her with the fragrance of the flowers heavy in the air.

“I know it seems like too much-“ she starts to protest but Lance silences her with a quick kiss.

“But some of them are for your father, right?”

She turns away. “Yes.”

There’s a beat of silence and the warmth of Lance’s arms around her body fades as he steps back. She watches out of the corner of her eye as he shuffles around their small kitchen to select a glass from the cupboard above the sink and ice from the freezer. He doesn’t look at her as he fills the glass, taking a sip before he turns back.

His expression is carefully neutral. It shouldn’t hurt like it does.

“So when are you going?”

Allura tries not to let her heart sink at the mild way he says the words. Bland. Unaccusatory, once again putting his needs on hold for her. Her father will forever be a source of tension between them, and it frustrates her because it doesn’t need to be.

“Soon, I think.” She reaches for his free hand across the kitchen counter. “I was rather hoping you would come with me.”

Lance places the glass down. “For moral support?”

She smiles, but it feels weak. She forces a cheerful teasing into her voice and hopes it doesn’t ring hollow. “I can’t very well go into battle without my best knight at my side, can I?”

“Best knight,” he chuckles. “Only knight,” he adds with a wink.

She’s relieved when the shadow in his eyes fades away and the brightness that lights him up comes back. She knows she relies on that brightness too much to scare away her own shadows but Lance is strong enough for the both of them.

“A brave paladin,” she says with mock seriousness and Lance releases her hand in order to bow dramatically.

“At your service, m’lady.”

He’s grinning when he straightens up, the buttons of his uniform mostly undone. He’s got a white fitted t-shirt underneath and she slides closer, reaching out to fiddle with the buttons he didn’t finish undoing earlier.

He doesn’t speak as she loosens them and slides his uniform off his shoulders. It drops to the floor with a soft rustle. She reaches out, placing a dark-skinned hand against the pristine white of his shirt.

A heavy quiet slides around them. The golden glow outside their window turns fades to pink against the deepening blue of the sky.

“Lance,” she says softly. “I miss you.”

It feels ridiculous to say such a thing. She saw him only hours ago, early in the morning when he’d silently rolled out of bed and padded away into the dark to dress for his shift. He’d given her a soft kiss against her forehead and then he was gone.

But there’s a distance between them that hadn’t been there before. A small crack that had grown so slowly into a chasm she had once thought was her father’s vague disapproval of her life, but that she now wonders might be something else entirely.

And Lance, as sweet as he was to her, was too scared to rock the boat. As though he was just waiting for the moment they would shatter and it would be all over. As though he was afraid if he was anything less than perfect to her, if she was anything less than perfect herself, what they had would fade on the wind, something too good to be true that it could only be an illusion.

She hears him swallow then laugh weakly. “I’m right here, princess.”

In spite of herself, she smiles but it feels brittle in a way it hasn’t for years. There feels like a lot on the tip of her tongue that she wants to say but she can sense a weariness in Lance too. It makes it hard to address, when they’re both so tired and emotional drawn out from forces outside continually demanding from them and then she realises that maybe it’s not really Lance that doesn’t want to rock the boat, maybe it’s her, because just the thought of not having Lance’s light in her life fills her up on the inside with a deep seated panic and her hand almost trembles.

He means so much to her, yet she still can’t give him everything he wants from her.

He tilts his head. “Ally, do you want to go see him now?”

It takes a moment for her thoughts to catch up to his soft question and she recognises instantly the effort it would have cost him. There’s not much love lost between her father and Lance, her father’s stark disapproval of her choices rubbing a little too hard against the insecurities Lance refuses to admit he has. He’s a few years younger than her, he’s more playful, he’s a first responder, not a top tier surgeon. He doesn’t have the fat bank accounts that the man her father had wanted her to marry did and while her father had never come out and said a rude word about Lance directly, it was his pointed looks and heavy frowns that Lance had easily picked up on.

Her hand still rests against his chest, against the gentle thump of his heart beating under her palm.

“No,” she says softly, making her decision and squashing down the guilt it inevitably brings. Perhaps Lance isn’t the only one who doesn’t want to rock the boat. She doesn’t want them to fight again. She doesn’t want this space between them. She misses her heart too much.

She turns into him, dropping her hand to curve her body against him. “Not tonight. Tonight I just want to be with you.”

The air between them changes, and without words they agree to shuck away the concerns and pressures of the day and curl around each other. Lance doesn’t hesitate, cupping her face between his hands and pressing a kiss to her lips that makes her feel weak. His kiss is like coming home, like finally finding her place in the heavens, a star that slots into its perfect place to forever shine brightly.

She leans into the kiss, parting her lips in invitation. He continues to hold her cheeks, his fingers tangling in her hair. He holds her like she’s something precious and beautiful, a delicate jewel he can’t quite believe is really his. It had frustrated her in the early days of their courtship, he was gentle, almost too gentle until she’d crossly demanded he kiss her like he meant it. He’d blinked and done as she had said and from there, they had found their rhythm and now she was sure she wouldn’t survive without his hands on her.

He kisses her like he means it now, his grip on her tightens, her breath becomes tight in her chest. She can feel the way his body gets tense against her and then one of his hands releases to trail down her body, walking a trail over her jaw, her neck, against the curve of her breast to tighten against her hip. There’s a small yank and she’s pulled against him, her mouth opening wider to accept him deeper. She adores the way he kisses her, soft and persistent, hungry but deferential. He makes her feel wanted, desired, something to be treasured and worshiped.

She slides her palms against his hips, fumbling with the belt on his pants. It’s hard to get a proper grip, she’s distracted by the smooth slide of his tongue in her mouth, by the way her heartbeat grows loud in her ears and her knees threaten to buckle. After a moment, she grows impatient with her clumsy fingers and shifts, hands once again gripping Lance’s hips and shoving him back the three steps before he collides with the kitchen counter. He grunts lightly as his back makes contact with it and he raises his head.

His eyes are dark but warm and adoring. He’s always looked at her that way, but it took her a long time to realise he could see through her façade and into her depths. A long time before she could trust she wasn’t just some kind of conquest.

He’s spent every day for the three years they’ve been together assuring her she wasn’t.

“Allura,” he gasps. “We should-“

She doesn’t give him a chance to answer, pulling at the soft white cotton of his shirt and offering up a small word of thanks that at least he’s already removed his boots. She tugs again at his belt buckle, this time her hands making quick work of it, ignoring his sharp inhale as she shoves his trousers off his hips and down his thighs.

“Ally,” he murmurs again, a faint tint of regret to his tone. She knows what he’s going to say, that perhaps they should stop or move to the bedroom or slow it down. Their apartment is on the top floor of the unit block, a pain when they have to trudge bags of groceries up the stairs but a blessing when they need the privacy. There are no neighbours that could see in, there is no one to be concerned about if she were to pull him to the floor and have her way with him right now.

She presses a finger to his lips, cutting off whatever he was going to say next. Understanding and heat floods his gaze and she smiles to herself. He liked to play dumb sometimes, let people underestimate him, but he was sharper than he let on.

Wordlessly, he reaches out, one finger curling around the shoulder strap of her sundress. He pauses briefly then as though thinking better of it, his hands move away. She opens her mouth to protest, only to feel the material of her dress dragging up her thighs as his hands slide under her dress. The slow drag makes her shiver then he grips her and lifts her, spinning them around with a small grunt of effort.

“Lance,” she gasps when she finds herself perched on the smooth marble of the counter. It’s cool against her heated skin. “Oh, please-”

She doesn’t need to elaborate and she doesn’t get the chance to before Lance is claiming her mouth again. They’ve shared a thousand kisses over the years they’ve been together but every time it’s like the first time. It catches her heart and makes her soar, makes her melt, makes her cling to him as the world spins away. He leaves her breathless in the way he touches her, reverent and gentle but hungry enough that it matches her own need and sets her ablaze. He kisses her now, the softness giving away to possessiveness, as though he’s trying to reassure himself that she belongs to him.

Then he’s not kissing her anymore, bunching up her dress further and tugging down a strap to expose the curve of her breast encased in the pretty lace she enjoys so much. 

“Beautiful,” she hears him murmur against her skin. His mouth wanders, following her curves in a way that makes her feel faint and breathless and then his mouth closes over the delicate lace, his tongue searching for her nipple, dampening the material and making her cry out as the flicker of electricity from the contact shoots through her body and coils low inside her.

She fists a hand in his dark hair and he hums his approval when she gives him a gentle shove. There’s one thing she loves more than anything from him, one thing he loves to give her. She demands it now, the heat under her skin making her body prickle with need. Lance laughs against her belly as he kisses lower, then he hums in approval as she allows him to nudge her knees further apart. He shoves the material of her dress to the side, only to huff in annoyance at how it keeps falling in the way and they clash together to lift it, tugging it up over her shoulders. A button gets caught in her curls and she curses softly as their moment has to pause to allow Lance to gently untangle her hair to release her. He laughs softly at her frown, leaning in to kiss it away before she loops her arms around his neck and drinks his smile in. His ability to keep his humour no matter the moment was one of the traits that had endeared him most to her.

“Are you okay, princess?”

“Yes,” she sighs, allowing him to press another lingering kiss against her mouth. It’s not where she wants him most but he catches onto the urgency anyway. A breeze skitters over her bared skin, and she leans back. The lace she wears is pale pink against the darkness of her skin and there’s no mistaking the approval in the way Lance drinks her in with his eyes.

He reaches out to touch her, almost reverently.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that, right?”

She doesn’t answer, her breath too heavy in her lungs. It had taken her far too long to allow herself to enjoy his compliments, to understand he meant more than just the surface. He’d seen her at her worst, at her best, and still looked at her like she was all the stars in the night sky.

He still makes her blush though.

He smiles as the heat spreads across her cheeks, even if she tosses her thick mane of silver waves around her shoulders. “You always say that.”

“I mean it. You are. Especially in pink.”

His finger slides under her bra strap, just as it did with the sundress. Slowly, gently, he tugs it down her shoulder.

She goes still.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs again.

He leans down to kiss her shoulder, trailing his mouth over her body once again. Without thinking, she spreads her thighs, allowing him to press closer. She loves the feel of his skin on hers, his skin not quite the dark hue hers is but dark enough. They look good together, she thinks absently, then his mouth sinks lower, and lower, until his tongue presses against the material of her panties and she struggles to think at all.

 

* * *

 

A day later on the other side of the river, Shiro stands in the doorway of their bedroom and admires the way the waning sunlight falls on his husband’s face. Their night is only just beginning, both of them dressed to the nines in sleek black tuxedos and matching satin bow ties. Keith has his hair smoothed back from his face and Shiro thinks he’s never looked more gorgeous.

But then, Keith could never not look beautiful.

“Stop staring,” Keith mutters, a twitch of his lips that tells Shiro he might be secretly pleased by the attention and fighting a smile. “You’re making it weird.”

“I thought you looked amazing in that dark red suit you wore for our wedding, but baby, you look so good in black.”

Keith holds his gaze. It’s hot and full of a glint that makes Shiro warm all over. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Shiro assures him.

It’s been a long time since Shiro has looked forward to a night out as much as this one. The fundraising gala had been circled in fat red ink on the old-fashioned paper calendar in his office since the day the Keith had reservedly shown him the invitation. Keith had been concerned about the price per head, especially with their days as a dual income household soon to come to an end, at least temporarily, but less than an hour later, Lance had dialled up the video link an announced in no uncertain terms that they were all going and that Allura had secured the tickets they’d needed.

Shiro was looking forward to a night out, sure, but he was looking forward to a black-tie event and the chance to show off his brand new husband to the world even more. Maybe it was a little it selfish, maybe even a little bit vain but god, was he proud of Keith and the work he does.

He snags Keith’s wrist and pulls him close. Keith doesn’t resist but Shiro can see the tug of the smile on his lips he tries to hide. He slides his arm around Keith’s back and gazes down at him. “I can’t wait to see everyone drool over you tonight.”

Keith’s lips quirk into a half grimace and he rolls his eyes. He shoves at Shiro lightly, mindful of the expensive tuxedoes they’re both wearing. “That’s not going to happen.”

Shiro smiles at him pleasantly. “Yeah, it is.”

It’s worth it to see the embarrassed huff Keith gives him before turning away and fiddling again with the bow tie at his throat in the mirror. Shiro steps up behind him, running his gaze over his reflection. Keith does his best to ignore him, until Shiro reaches around to help.

The light from overhead glints on the black and silver planes of his bionic hand as it moves. Shiro has grown to love the contrast of his bionic hand against his husband’s pale skin, a feat in itself. He never expected he could grow to love anything about the metal and tech fused to his body in place of his own flesh.

“I’m serious though,” he says softly against his husband’s ear. “I’m really proud of you. Of everything you do.”

Keith meets his eyes in the mirror, a strange kind of shyness in his gaze. It makes Shiro wonder if his relationship with Kolivan was really that damaged that Keith had never heard those words before and a small part of him aches with the thought. Even without his own parents or his grandfather in his life, he’d always had his surrogate parents Colleen and Samuel Holt as his cheerleaders, to tell him they were proud of him, who believed in him no matter what.

In the harrowing months following his crash when the galaxy garrison’s brass had bandied around the words _pilot error_ , that support had meant more to him than he could ever hope to repay.

A quiet moment passes and Keith’s jaw clicks as he swallows. “Thank you,” he finally murmurs.

Shiro leans over his shoulder to press a chaste kiss to Keith’s cheek, soft and gentle. He shifts back, only for Keith to turn in his arms and kiss him back a little harder.

“The tux,” Shiro mumbles faintly against Keith’s mouth, only realise he’s not sure if the tooting of the limo wafting in through the balcony doors was his saviour or his curse.

Keith steps back, smoothing down his jacket as he makes his way over to the billowing curtains, shoving them aside as he steps out onto the balcony. Shiro follows.

A long stretch of white glimmers in the twilight as the vehicle idles in the street out the front of the townhouse. Shiro leans against the railing as the sunroof slides open and Lance, donned in a white tux with a blue bow tie pops up, waving a bottle of expensive champagne in his hand.

“Hey, it’s the newlyweds! Get in losers, we’re going to a gala!”

art by [fizaxon](https://twitter.com/fizaxon) on twitter


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the EMS gala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This alludes back to the one shot prequel I wrote for Lance's b'day a while back (https://archiveofourown.org/works/15463758)

The emergency services fundraising gala is one of the few events of the year that Keith doesn’t mind going along to. He doesn’t even mind being crammed into a limo alongside five of his closest friends, not with the gentle weight of his husband’s palm resting against his thigh as the car winds its way through the city streets.

“Hey,” Shiro says softly against his ear, the light touch on Keith’s thigh moving into something else more possessive. It’s dark in the limo, the cabin’s interior lit by only a strip of neon purple lights around the roofline. The others are chatting happily amongst themselves, the conversation moving too fast for Keith to follow with only half an ear. He’s glad he managed to claim one of the seats closest to the door and he spends a good deal of the ride staring out the window to watch the play of the street lights over the buildings they pass. “Are you still with us?”

“Hmm, yeah,” Keith turns away from the view outside and turns towards his husband. It’s a much better view, he decides instantly. Shiro wears a black tux so similar to Keith’s own like he was born to it. Like it was sculpted just for him, sitting across his broad shoulders neatly and making the paleness of his skin glow. Even the scar across the bridge of his nose isn’t so noticeable tonight, despite the flick of his white streak of hair slicked back from his face. His grey eyes look dark in the cabin, almost blue with the wash of the interior light.

“I was just… thinking,” he offers lamely at Shiro’s questioning raise of his eyebrow.

“We don’t have to stay long if you don’t want to,” Shiro leans in to whisper against his ear. The warm scent of Shiro’s cologne caresses his senses in the most wonderful of ways and Keith has to stop himself from sucking in a big breath to draw it all in. He allows himself to bask in the shiver that Shiro’s breath coasts over his neck though. “Just say the word and we’ll leave.”

Keith reaches for Shiro’s hand, scooping it up from its home on his thigh and entwining their fingers together. He squeezes tightly and turns his face to brush his lips lightly against his husband’s, hoping that the darkness of the limo hides his affectionate display from too much attention from their friends. There has already been at least one bottle of expensive champagne emptied so far on the trip, he’s sure there will be more.

“I’m actually looking forward to it,” he tells his husband as he leans back. There’s a hoot of laughter from the others and he glances over Shiro’s broad shoulder to see Lance throw back his head as he cackles at something Hunk says. Allura leans against his side, dangling her glass of champagne recklessly in one hand as she joins in the laughter. Beside her, Matt taps away forlornly at a tablet in one hand as Pidge peers over his shoulder, trying to hide the fact she’s just spilt a few drops of champagne on his suit.

Lance catches his eye across the limo and grins.

“Yeah,” he says with more conviction, leaning forward to reach for a glass of champagne of his own. He can feel Shiro’s warm gaze on him as the takes a gulp. The champagne is sticky on his lips and sweet on his tongue. “It will be fun.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro is conscious of the ironclad grip Keith keeps on his hand as the limo nears their destination. The last time they’d been in one, it had been the end of their wedding day and they were being grilled by Lotor. Lotor, who should have been with them tonight as Matt’s date but Pidge had caught his eye with a small shake of her head warning him not to question why Matt was climbing into the limo alone and nursing a bottle of champagne all to himself.

He listens to the chatter float around him, once again marvelling at how easy this small group of both his and Keith’s friends had melded together. It was like they had all known each other for decades rather than a few months.

It was easy, and fun and supportive and Shiro was grateful every day to not only have found a life partner in Keith, but all the kindness and warmth from Allura and the bad puns and terrible jokes to rival his own questionable humour in Lance.

The limo pulls up just as he drains his first glass of champagne and Keith is onto his second. The limo had apparently taken the scenic route into the city and by the end of the drive, Keith had tucked himself snugly into Shiro’s side. It was an easy thing to throw an arm around his husband’s shoulders and draw him even closer and breathe in the strawberry hints that laced his hair. One day Shiro promised himself he would ask Keith about that. Why _that_ particular shampoo, why _that_ particular scent?

“Hey, it looks like we’ve finally arrived,” Lance says, shoving his and Allura’s champagne flutes back onto the tray in the side panel of the limo. Allura smoothes out her dress and tosses a handful of platinum curls over her shoulder. Some of the strands catch Lance in the face and she dissolves into giggles when he makes a dramatic show of pulling a face and blowing them off his cheeks. They’re both more than a little tipsy it already.

“Well, it’s about time,” Pidge complains. She’s in yet another incarnation that had made Shiro double take when they slid into the limo, high heels and a sleek black suit that sported obsidian bejewelled shoulders that match the sharp eyeliner around her eyes. She’s forgone her trademark glasses and with blood red lipstick and her hair styled high in gleaming curls around a vibrant emerald headband, she’s almost unrecognizable from the no nonsense galaxy garrison lieutenant he passes daily in the halls. “We were about to open that last bottle out of boredom.”

Shiro eyes the flute she still holds in her hand with amusement but a moment later, she huffs at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she snaps, cheeks suddenly pink. “I’m not fifteen anymore.”

Shiro lifts his arm from his husbands’ shoulders to snap off a salute. “No, ma’am!” he quips and she pokes her tongue out at him before polishing off the rest of her glass with a look of outright defiance. She concentrates hard to place the glass back on the tray without knocking the others over then flashes him a smug look when she succeeds.

“Ha,” she says.

“Easy now,” Shiro murmurs mildly.

Lance leans forward to stare at Shiro. He jerks a thumb in Pidge’s direction. “Aren’t you like, not supposed to get her wet or something? That’s the deal with gremlins, right?”

Pidge’s eyes spark under her make up. “Bite me, McClain!”

Lance cackles again and Keith makes a sound that might be a stifled snort and Shiro elbows him to hush him. There’s not enough room to move in here if Pidge decides to get feisty.

Pidge rolls her eyes. 

The door to the limo swings open before anyone else can speak and the sounds of the gala already in full swing wafts over them. There’s a live band playing a familiar song and as the _words if you need me, call me_ filter into the limo, Lance starts to laugh once again.

He’s still cackling to himself as they all pile out of the car and stand on the steps in front of the one of the city’s most sought after celebration venues. Nestled right on the river and dating back a few hundred years, the regal sandstone building is lit up in bright lights and banners welcoming all manner of emergency services branches from law enforcement to fire and rescue and ambulance. There’s even a fire truck nearby where a swarm of impeccably dressed people stand as small drones flutter overhead snapping photos for the press. Everywhere they turn around, there are people dressed to impress and ready to celebrate.

Lance nudges Keith, continuing to laugh as the music plays and Keith scowls at him.

“Don’t you remember, Keith?” Lance grins, slapping a hand on his friend’s shoulder and pointing up towards the lit-up building. “My birthday a few years back and we went to that new karaoke bar? We ended up on stage singing this to all those garrison flyboys up the back?”

“No,” Keith shakes his head. “And I don’t want to.”

Lance turns to Shiro and Shiro is vaguely aware of Matt standing at his elbow, staring up at the old building were the gala is underway inside.

“Oh, he remembers,” Lance assures him. “You should have seen it, Shiro, Keith actually has a half decent voice.”

Shiro smiles at his husband even as a vague memory tickles at the back of his mind. He knows Keith has a half decent voice. It’s more than half decent, it’s downright seductive the way that husky voice of his turns to honey in his ear. He’d coaxed Keith into singing along with him in the car a few times, and even barefoot in their kitchen once or twice in the relatively short time they’ve been together but he wasn’t about to share that with Lance.

“I believe it,” he answers, exchanging a warm look with Keith.

Lance grins and launches into the song, belting out the chorus along with the band and a memory Shiro hasn’t thought about in years surfaces. Shiro looks at Lance curiously.

“Lance, when is your birthday?”

Lance stops singing. “Uh, July 28th, why?”

Shiro pauses then shakes his head. No, the coincidence was too much. He’d reached the rank of Lieutenant sometime in the July before the crash that took his arm, and they’d celebrated at a recently opened karaoke bar with a few of his fellow officers. He was fairly buzzed that night but surely if he’d been there the same time Keith was, he’d have noticed him… wouldn’t he?

Shiro glances at Matt, only to find Matt rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Matt catches his eye. “Don’t look at me,” he says with a shrug. “I don’t remember anything about that night. I pre-gamed too hard.”

“How many promotions were there in July?”

Matt wrinkles his nose and shrugs again. “Not that many.”

Lance stares at Shiro in surprise, something ticking over behind his eyes. He taps his chin, giving Shiro a speculative look. “Wait, don’t tell me you were there that night? That was you?”

Keith cuts in before Shiro can answer. His voice is hard, tinted with annoyance. “No way,” he declares to Shiro. “I would have remembered you.”

There had been a lot of alcohol that night and his memories are too hazy for Shiro to confirm but the dates seem to line up. He does vaguely remember someone on a dark stage yelling at them though, and a couple of guys singing their hearts out before he was pulled up himself.

He’d been on top of the world back then. Different to who he was now in so many ways, not least of all appearance.

“I looked different back then,” Shiro reminds Keith gently. Dark hair without the slash of white at his forehead. He’d always thought the old wives’ tail about hair turning white after a traumatic event was purely just that, an old wives’ tale, but when the silver strands started appearing in one patch almost overnight after his accident, he hadn’t been quite so sure.

Keith glares at him, his gaze flickering to his hand then back up. “Not that different.”

“No,” Shiro shakes his head. “I don’t mean my arm.”

Keith’s eyes narrow slightly and Pidge leans into the conversation. Shiro hadn’t even realised she was listening in.

“His hair,” Pidge supplies helpfully. Behind her, Hunk and Allura have already moved up the steps to secure their place in the long entry line to get in.

Keith swings around to stare at her.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Lance throws up his hands before Keith can say anything. He points between Shiro and Keith. “If you were there, and we were there, then-“

“No,” Keith shakes his head stubbornly, easily halting that train of thought. “I would have noticed him.”

“I was just gonna say-“

“No,” Keith interrupts again.

Lance huffs and thumps Keith lightly on the shoulder. “Idiot, let me finish. I was just going to say that if we were, it’s kind of cool.”

“What?”

Lance pulls a face. “Man, you don’t have a single romantic bone in your body, do you? It means maybe the universe has been conspiring to get you guys together for a while. Maybe you wouldn’t have needed the experiment. Huh. You ever think of that?”

Lance grins and waggles his finger guns at them before he spins on his heel and bounds up the sandstone steps to catch up to Allura and Hunk.

“Huh,” Matt says and the strangled way he says it makes Shiro glance at him sharply.

It’s only a fleeting glimpse, so fast that Shiro isn’t really sure if he saw it correctly. Something in Matt’s face looks like devastation, just a quick crack before he looks away and for the second time that evening, Shiro wonders why Lotor wasn’t with him. They’d been fairly inseparable up until now.

“Ugh,” Pidge rolls her eyes suddenly and grabs her brother’s hand to tug him up the stairs after Lance. Shiro finds himself hesitating to follow, his thoughts falling back into the possibility that perhaps he and Keith had met once before, however fleeting.

Maybe Lance was right? Maybe they didn’t need the matching from the scientists. Maybe he could have been walking down the street or ordering a coffee and one day he’d turn around and Keith would be there.

The idea makes him strangely uncomfortable.

Shiro finds himself regretting the champagne he’d drunk in the limo, before changing his mind and wishing he had another one right now. Keith lingers on the stairs beside him, seemingly lost in thoughts of his own.

Shiro reaches for his husband’s hand. “Well, what do you make of that?”

Keith narrows his eyes. There’s bluster, but there’s also something small there that Shiro can’t read.

“I think Lance is full of shit, as always.”

Shiro bites back his laugh at the scathing comment but there’s a twinkle in his husband’s eye that betrays his true feelings.

“We should catch up with the others.” He drops a quick kiss to his husband’s nose and they follow their friends into the venue.

 

* * *

 

(art by [fizaxon](https://twitter.com/fizaxon) on twitter)

* * *

 

The cool night outside fades into the noise and glamour of the party as their small group enters through the wide panel doors and into the hall. The domed interior shimmers with the reflected light of sparkling chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Scores of round white tables topped with stunning floral centrepieces and glassware that twinkle like precious jewels are laid out around a stage and each table is labelled with a neatly printed name cards for each of the guests. Lance didn’t want to think about how much it would have cost to secure their tables for the gala tonight and Allura had made a point of assuring him it was her father’s company picking up the tab after all.

It shouldn’t bother him that Alfor could buy and sell the city a hundred times over, after all being rich didn’t necessarily make you a good person and when you died, you sure as hell couldn’t take it with you but it was moments like this, no matter how much Alfor allowed Allura to channel his excess funds into the city’s organizations who needed it, it still made a small part of Lance squirm uncomfortably on the inside.

He forces his feet to keep moving, trailing after their group as they make their way to the table assigned to them and for the most part, everyone seems in good spirits. Pidge and Hunk seem happy enough, although Pidge’s brother Matt seems a lot quieter than usual. Lance assumes that Lotor was meeting them here so the forlorn look on his face seems a bit out of place.

“Hey, is your brother okay?” Lance nudges Pidge before she can take her seat. She pauses with a slight frown on her face and glances at her brother before turning back to Lance.

“He’ll be okay,” she says dismissively, then tugs on her suit’s lapels with a toss of her head. Lance tries not to notice that she doesn’t wear a shirt under her suit jacket, just a gold chain against her bare skin. It makes her look older than she is. “It’s better this way anyway.”

Lance opens his mouth but before he can seek clarification, Pidge has already turned away, ignoring her own seat at the table and snagging a perch on Hunk’s knee instead. She promptly curls her arm around her boyfriend’s bulky shoulders and pointedly ignores everyone else.

Okay then.

Lance turns around, wondering where Allura had already disappeared to. He has to stand up on his tiptoes to peer through the colourful lights and soft smoky haze but it’s not easy to catch a glimpse of his fiancé in the crowd. When he does finally spot her, it proves impossible to tear his gaze away. Allura is always beautiful, but tonight she’s heart stoppingly gorgeous, so much so that when she had glided down the stairs to meet him where he was waiting for her in their living room, he’d almost choked on his own tongue.

It had taken him a long time to find his voice. _You look… you look incredible, princess._

She looks more like a queen now. A regal queen surrounded by her court, a bevy of beautiful, powerful people he doesn’t recognize all vying for her attention. She attracts them due to her reputation coupled with the simple fact she is Alfor’s daughter, but it’s her ethereal beauty that has everyone really turning their heads. Even among the glamour here tonight, she still stands apart.

Sleek heels that sparkle as she walks, platinum tresses tumbling down her back and curling against her ebony cheeks, a rich cerulean blue dress that clings to her curves and glimmers in the candlelight.

Blue. She looks _so good_ in blue.

His heart sighs at the sight of her and Lance is torn between pride and a selfish lick of possessiveness when he sees how the men and a few women in the crowd eye her so hungrily. He hangs back from going to her, a strange, unsettling emotion he doesn’t want to give a name to curling up and settling in the pit of his stomach. He’s not jealous, he tells himself. He’s not insecure either.

Well, maybe just a little bit.

He knows Allura’s father isn’t the only person on the planet who looks at him and wonders what Allura sees in him and if Lance is brutally honest with himself, sometimes he looks in the mirror some mornings and wonders the same thing.

But no one else can love Allura like he can, he tells himself. Like he _does_. And he’s going to spend a lifetime proving it.

He gives himself a small mental shake, throwing off the self defeating thoughts like a dog shaking water off it’s coat. It wasn’t like him to dwell in the negativity and he knows he needs to flip his thoughts into something better. Something lighter.  

Cracking a joke or annoying Keith usually does the trick.

Except… when he turns around, he discovers Keith with one hand curled in the lapel of his husband’s tux, pulling the larger man down for a kiss. Shiro goes willingly, his head bowing down to meet Keith’s slightly smaller stature. The kiss looks soft and it makes Lance’s brain stutter weirdly to see the easy way Keith simply melts into Shiro’s affection so publicly. The Keith he knew before the experiment had been a lot more reserved, a lot more brittle. He still has his moments, but he’s softer now and Lance was surprised at how pleased it made him. Perhaps deep down that was why he had signed Keith up to the experiment in the first place, partly to fuck with him, but also because Lance had been genuinely worried about his best friend’s state of mind.

The gamble had paid off in a way he could never have expected.

Plus, smoochy, handsy, lovey-dovey Keith gave Lance oodles of ammunition to rile him up over and it was _great._

“Hey!” Lance yells across the table. “Get a room you two! This is a PG event!”

Keith’s lips twitch with a smothered laugh against Shiro’s mouth then his hand uncurls long enough to stick up his middle finger in Lance’s direction. They don’t stop kissing.

Lance plants his hands on his hips, the champagne he’s already drunk making the laughter harder to contain. He tries valiantly for stern instead. “Oh, nice. Real nice, man. Seriously, you two are gross.”

A cackle from beside him has him glancing down. Pidge mimes vomiting over the edge of Hunk’s knee but Hunk gives him a mushy smile. “Aw, come on, it’s kind of sweet.”

“Yeah? Well, watch this.”

Lance whips out his phone, ensures the flash is on and creeps close to snap a photo of the newlyweds.

The light works better than a glass of cold water, especially on Shiro who jerks back, breaking the kiss.

“Hey now,” he flushes. His cheeks are dusted with pink and he tries to shift back in order to put some space between them but Keith doesn’t relinquish his hold.

Lance yells across the table again. “Leave some room for Jesus, man!”  

Keith turns to Lance with sharp eyes and a low growl. “ _Beat it, McClain.”_

Lance smiles at him cheerfully. “No can do, old buddy, old pal. Allura forked out the big bucks to get us these tables tonight and I’m gonna make sure you two aren’t about to bail.”

“We weren’t going to,” Keith huffs, finally stepping back and smoothing down the lapels of Shiro’s jacket. He shares a look with his husband that tells Lance they most definitely were and Lance snickers quietly to himself. Honestly, he can’t begrudge the newlyweds for wanting to rush off early. He and Allura had been the same when they first got together. He hadn’t been able to get enough of her and surprisingly at the time, she hadn’t either.

Lance realises he’s made the mistake of watching Keith and Shiro for too long when he sees them lean in to press their foreheads together. Shiro whispers something in Keith’s ear that makes him close his eyes and laugh quietly and their black wedding rings glint on their fingers. The sight of them together gives Lance a strange little ache that has him thinking about the fact he’s been engaged to Allura longer than the entirely of Keith and Shiro’s entire relationship and yet he’s still no closer to being able to call her his wife than the first day he’d proposed.

He turns away, the novelty of teasing Keith abruptly losing its appeal when all he wants to really do is find Allura. He searches for her in the crowd again, but she’s been swallowed up, his view obstructed by the other attendees. There are a few faces he recognizes, work colleagues mostly and their families but plenty more he doesn’t.  He spies a few of the fire and rescue personnel he’s crossed paths with, including Blaytz who’s unmistakable with his flare of blue hair. Lance raises a hand in greeting and Blaytz waves back, then his attention is taken elsewhere. Lance is about to dive into the crowd around the stage in search of Allura when his footsteps falter and his eyes widen.

He hurries over to Keith.

“Keith,” he hisses, elbowing his friend. “Check out who’s here. It looks like _all_ the big guns are here tonight.”

He jerks his head in the direction of group of faces he’s only ever seen on the news feeds.

There’s one figure that stands taller than the rest, a big man with a shock of pale hair swept back from his deeply tanned face. He doesn’t smile and he wears the dress uniform of a police officer rather than a tux. Around him huddle a few other vaguely familiar faces, but not any Lance can put definitive names to just yet.

Keith stares into the distance and his expression turns hard. “Sendak.” 

“It’s him, right? It’s definitely Sendak?”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees. “It’s him.”

“I didn’t really think he came to these sorts of things.”

“He never has before. Not that I know of.”

“Who is Sendak?” Shiro asks curiously. He stands close to Keith, one hand resting on the small of his husband’s back. It’s hard to notice his prosthetic under his suit tonight but Lance wonders briefly how many of the emergency services personnel in attendance might remember the rumours that had swirled around after the incident where Shiro had pulled the door off a car to save a woman before it erupted in flames. It hadn’t been all that long ago.

“Commander Sendak,” Keith clarifies for his husband. “Law enforcement.”

“That name sounds familiar,” Shiro answers.

“Rumour has it he’s gunning for the assistant commissioner role, only Randveig won’t step down.”

“Yeah, she’s a hardass,” Keith mutters with a shrug. “Don’t think she’s going anywhere any time soon.”

Lance tries to place the other faces in the crowd. There’s another one he recognizes, some political figure of some sort. Who was she- oh!

“Is that the Mayor?” Lance has to stand on the tip of his toes again to see over the heads of the crowd but the glimpse he gets is enough.

“Interesting, I could have sworn that was Admiral Sanda there too,” Shiro says with a frown. He exchanges a wordless glance with Keith that Lance can’t read.

“What? What does that mean? Is that bad?”

“I don’t believe so,” Shiro answers slowly but he shrugs with a feigned casualness. “I gather it means the galaxy garrison’s open day went far better than anyone expected though.”

“What,” Keith snorts a little rudely at that. “Is the garrison suddenly going to start sharing their funding or something?”

Shiro gives him a sharp look and Lance watches curiously as Keith shrugs. He doesn’t seem like he’s sorry for the comment but then that’s classic Keith. It does make Lance want to wince internally when Shiro’s response is so carefully bland though. Lance likes Shiro, he likes him a lot, but there’s something kind of freaky about the way he can stay so calm in the face of Keith’s bluntness. It’s clear the statement annoyed Shiro, but it’s only barely there, just simmering under the surface.

His cool tone makes the hair on the back of Lance’s neck stick up.

“Is that what you think?”

Keith levels a look at his husband. It’s unflinching but his voice is gentle in a way Lance rarely hears outside of a work environment.

“Can’t deny the garrison gets the lion’s share, ’Kashi.”

“We’ve talked about this. That’s not how it works, Keith.”

Keith flicks gaze at Lance and Lance has the sudden realization that this must be a familiar conversation in the Shirogane household. One that might not always end in pretty words and kisses.

Interesting.

A shadow looms up at Keith’s back. “Well, if it isn’t little Keith Kogane,” the new arrival says in a rough voice.

Lance watches on in surprise as the new arrival pulls Keith in for a quick embrace. It’s not until he steps back that Lance gets a good look at his face, a square jaw, dark skin and eyes so pale they almost look white. His hair is dark though, long and pulled back into a braid that reminds him oddly of the one Keith’s uncle wears.

“Don’t call me that,” Keith rolls his eyes but he returns the man’s smile with a tight one of his own. He holds up his hand, flashing his wedding ring. “I’m not little anymore, and it’s Shirogane now, remember?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure your uncle Kolivan would still agree with me on the little part,” the man says, a deep chuckle rumbling through.

He turns to Shiro then and sticks out his hand. Shiro doesn’t hesitate to take it and there’s a small flicker of recognition in the man’s eye as their palms make contact and he realises the hand gripped in his isn’t human. He tilts his head and his brows furrow, as though searching through his memory for a name.

“Shiro,” Shiro says without any further prompting. He exchanges a glance with Keith. “We’ve met before. That night at the hospital with Keith’s sisters.”

Realization dawns quickly. “Ah, that’s right. My apologies, I couldn’t quite remember your name.”

Shiro laughs easily. “You’d be surprised how often I hear that. Regris, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Regris says. He grins broadly, wide thin lips over white teeth and it’s not until Lance hears his name that the vague familiarity solidifies. He looks different out of uniform, but he’s recognizable just the same.

They’ve crossed paths with Regris on jobs a couple of times before, most notably when they were rookie and only just muddling through their first year out in the field. When Lance had pressed Keith about the over familiarity Regris displayed, Keith had finally confessed that Regris had served with his uncle Kolivan eons before he joined the police force and that Regris had known Keith since he was a child. Regris was one of the younger men in Kolivan’s unit, some shady organization Lance couldn’t remember the name of and a lot like Kolivan, Regris had a subtle kind of menacing aura around him that made Lance want to back away slowly.

Regris doesn’t let go of Shiro’s hand. Instead, he nods down at it.  “Rather unforgettable with that, though.”

Shiro smiles pleasantly but Lance glances at Keith to spy his smile slip into something hard. Regris peers at Keith assessingly, his pale eyes narrowing just enough to tell Lance he’s assessing every detail. You could take the man out of the uniform but there was no mistaking this guy was a cop.

“Speaking of your sisters,” Regris says with feigned casualness. “You haven’t heard from them, have you?”

The air between them sparks and Keith straightens instantly. Lance’s stomach tenses at the hard line of his friend’s mouth. He has a feeling he knows what’s coming. It’s the same thing that always ends up coming when they’re mentioned.

“No, not since you took them in. Why? Has something happened?”

Regris looks uneasy then, glancing from Shiro to Keith and back again. He seems surprised by the answer, as though he was expecting Keith to tell him his sisters were currently shacked up and living under the same roof as him.

“I see,” he says softly. “Well, it seems I am about to ruin your night.”

“Ruin it how?” Keith demands. Already his hackles are up, his fist clenched at his side. The noise of the party going on around them seems suddenly very far away. “Regris, what are you talking about?”

“It’s okay, Keith,” Shiro murmurs, and he takes a step closer to his husband.

Lance shifts. He stares hard at Regris. He knows what Regris is going to tell them but he can’t stop himself from blurting out the question anyway. “They took off, didn’t they?”

Regris turns to him in surprise, as though only just realising he was there. The flicker of recognition is far more instant and Lance isn’t sure how he should feel about that. “McClain. Yes, you’re right. The three of them did a few days after we brought them in.”

Keith’s mouth twists. His voice drops dangerously. He spits out his words through gritted teeth. “I thought they were in protective custody? _Your_ custody.”

Regris shrugs. “We can’t hold them if they don’t want to stay. And we didn’t have anything to charge them to keep them.”

Keith swears under his breath, already digging around in the pocket of his pants. Lance knows what he’s going for and he looks at Shiro in frustration.

As always, Shiro’s expression is a smooth plane of patience. He calmly places a hand on Keith’s shoulder, making him pause. Shiro says his name then Keith reluctantly looks up. Lance can’t quite hear what Shiro says next but it’s enough that Keith sighs and slips his phone back into his pocket.

Lance has to try hard not to let his eyebrows climb into his hair.

“You hear from them, you call me, okay?” Regris says as he walks off. He’s quickly swallowed up by the crowd but Lance doesn’t notice because he’s too busy staring at Keith. His gut is churning because he knows they’re on the edge. He knows at any second, Keith is gonna want to dive into this headfirst.

The only thing that might stop him is Shiro.

Lance struggles not to say anything but he can feel the red hot tension building up inside him. His bowtie around his neck suddenly feels tight. He watches Keith carefully, only to find his best friend avoiding his eye.

Typical.

A beat passes. Then two.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Lance finally squawks. He’s not proud of it, but _fuck_ Ezor and Zethrid and Acxa and whatever horses they rode in on. Anyone could see they were bad news. Anyone but Keith, apparently.

“Lance,” Shiro murmurs quietly and Lance has to take a valiant swallow to hold back his cuss. He glares at Keith.

“So, you really haven’t heard from her?” Lance demands after a moment.

“No,” Keith shakes his head. “I haven’t.”

The breath rushes out of his lungs in relief but Keith clearly looks troubled. So, the three witches had disappeared? _Good riddance,_ Lance thinks privately but he knows better than to say it out loud.

He can see the cogs turning in Keith’s mind. The way his hand twitches over his phone.

No. Nope. Not this again.

“Not your circus, not your monkeys, Keith,” he snaps. There’s more rising up than the simple fact he’s worried about the shit they’re trying to drag Keith into. Something that feels a little too much like jealousy, a little too much like hurt that makes him want to take a metaphorical swing at something.

Incredibly, but not surprisingly, Keith looks like he’s about to argue. Lance shoots Shiro a look that begs him to back him up. Were they really going to let Keith’s wayward half-sisters ruin yet another night for them?

_Really?_

“Lance is right,” Shiro finally mutters. He says something else Lance doesn’t catch over the music and the chatter of the party around them but the tension in Keith’s shoulders seems to ease as he releases a rough breath. His hand unclenches and he almost smiles.

Wow, Shiro really had Keith’s number and Lance can’t help but blink in open curiosity at the way Shiro only has to lay his hand against Keith’s shoulder and Keith’s hackles melt under his touch.

“Yeah, okay. Okay, you’re right,” Keith finally says, sparing a glance at Lance. If he didn’t know better, it might almost have been apologetic. “She hasn’t contacted me and I have no idea where she would be.”

“Well, then there’s no point letting it ruin our night,” Lance states, dropping his hands on his hips. They’ve barely been there an hour and the night was off to a rocky start with Regris’s bombshell, Matt moping at the table and Allura swallowed up by the crowd.

If Keith can forget about his sisters, then maybe they can still salvage the night.

Lance tries to search out his fiancé in the mass of people once again, only to spy her standing beside a man that looks like he might be getting too close for comfort.

Lance sighs and pushes through the crowd.


	5. Chapter 5

Keith thinks he’s doing a pretty good job so far of hiding how much Regris’s news about his sisters is bothering him despite how it unsettles him. It feels like a lead weight in his gut, like a dark spectre following him around, looming over him and breathing putrid breath down the back of his neck.

It’s absurd, he tells himself and he replays Lance’s words in his mind before he shoves it all down to deal with later. He turns to his husband and focuses on the warm light that radiates out from him like an aura, stepping into Shiro’s space and letting the calm he offers washing over him. Shiro is his quiet place, he had been since the moment they’d met.

He looks so good tonight and Keith is selfishly a little proud to be the one standing beside him, to be the one Shiro turns to with that soft gaze and deferential hand warm on the small of his back. Keith introduces him to a few people he crosses paths with at work and he sees the way their eyes widen slightly when they take in Shiro’s height and broad shoulders, he sees the way their gazes roam over him in appreciation.

And Shiro… Shiro plays the room beautifully. He’ll do well wooing investors for Altea Bionics, Keith thinks.

They’re headed back to their table when they pass Allura, her cheeks flushed and her mouth tight. Lance holds his hand out to her, concern written clearly over his face but she squeezes his hand then takes her seat just as Keith and Shiro do also.

The meal arrives, a plate full of thick steak and colourful vegetables drizzled with some kind of sauce. Hunk is the first to dig in, singing the praises of the chef. It must be good if Hunk says it is but it tastes a lot like ash in Keith’s mouth. He struggles to get through half of it, shoving the food around on his plate and hoping that no one notices his lack of appetite. At one point, he feels Lance’s eyes on him from across the table and he glances up, forcing a forkful of meat into his mouth and smiling weakly around it at a joke Shiro makes. Lance glances away and Keith manages to swallow it down, reaching for his wine glass instead.

They’re halfway through eating when the auction starts up. The MC for the evening is someone Keith is starting to become more than familiar with and Keith is glad when his plate is finally taken away. Shiro lowers his hand under the table, resting it against Keith’s knee.

On the stage, a man in a pale blue tux and bright orange hair strides across the stage. Keith watches on as Coran whips the crowd into a frenzy, the items available to bid on ranging from stuffed teddy bears sporting miniature emergency services uniforms, to exclusive dinners and holidays, cars and all manner of items that surprise him, especially when Shiro signs in with a short flurry then holds up the digital paddle when a trip to far off destination is announced.

The bidding gets ferocious but Shiro bides his time. He glances at Keith with eyes that sparkle.

“What are you doing?” Keith asks suspiciously.

“I promised you a second honeymoon, didn’t I?”

Keith snorts a little and shakes his head. The bidding reaches a feverish amount, enough for a first-class trip twice over thanks to Coran’s exuberance. Shiro bids and Keith raises an eyebrow.

“You know, it would probably be cheaper if we just went and booked one ourselves without all this.”

Shiro holds the paddle but doesn’t lift it again. In the background, Coran screeches into the microphone, lips flapping as he does his best to drum up the enthusiasm for the auction. Through it all, Shiro simply holds Keith gaze. Keith feels like they haven’t been able to take their eyes off each other all night.

“Want me to stop?”

Keith regards him silently for another beat.

“No,” he says softly and Shiro’s face splits into a grin and he raises the paddle once again. He keys in a number that makes the room gasp and Coran almost fall off the stage in his excitement and then suddenly the holiday is theirs.

When the auction moves onto the next item and the others around the table have offered their congratulations, Keith braces his chin on one hand and studies his husband.

Shiro takes a moment to register the attention on him. He turns and raises an eyebrow.

“See something you like?” he says in response to Keith’s heated gaze.

“You know I do,” Keith murmurs. “

Shiro smiles and drapes his arm across the back of Keith’s chair and leans in. Keith catches a whisper of Shiro’s cologne and despite the crowd in the room, it might as well just be the two of them in that moment. Shiro leans forward to touch his forehead against Keith’s. His other hand comes to rest against Keith’s thigh.

“I want to give you the world, Keith.”

His hand curls around the back of Keith’s neck and tilts Keith’s head up. He sees a brief flash of warmth in his grey eyes a moment before they drift shut and he feels the soft press of Shiro’s mouth on his. He never thought he’d be so comfortable with casual affection on display in public like this but with Shiro, he can’t get enough.

People are probably watching them, he’d caught the speculative glances in his husband’s direction throughout the night, especially when Shiro had shucked off his jacket and lured Keith briefly onto the dance floor to dance with him. He’d been having a good time until the looming spectre of his sisters kept creeping into the back of his mind.

He pulls back from the kiss and sighs softly. Shiro gives him a knowing smile and jerks his head towards the back off the hall where the doors open out onto the terraced gardens and the river.

“You want to call them, don’t you?”

Keith can’t help the guilty look.

Shiro sighs. “Sweetheart, if that’s what you want to do, then you should. For your own peace of mind if nothing else.”

“Lance is right though. I don’t want to get caught up in her shit. Maybe it’s best just to stay out of it.”

“Do you really think you can do that?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Shiro gives him a soft smile and Keith turns the words over in his head. It’s just a call, what harm could it do? And Shiro was right, it’d just be for his own peace of mind. He doesn’t have to get dragged in to whatever she’s caught up in. He just needs to assure himself she’s okay and then hang up.

They slip away to the terraced gardens and Keith spends a full minute staring at her name in his phone. Shiro waits patiently at his side, until Keith forces himself to draw in a deep breath and walk into the shadows a few steps, his back to the gala. The grass is dewy under his shiny shoes and the dial tone in his ear is loud enough that it momentarily blocks out the sounds of the river not far away.

There’s no answer so he tries again and the call goes to voice mail after a few rings. He frowns.

“Ezor, it’s Keith. Let me know that you’re okay.”

He hangs up and sticks the phone back in his pocket, trudging back up to where Shiro waits for him on the path.

“No answer,” he says and Shiro opens his arms to him.

“Well, you tried. You did that at least. Hopefully she’ll call you back before long.”

“Yeah,” Keith murmurs. He lets himself lean against Shiro, grateful for the warmth his husband offers even on a balmy night such as this. And his understanding.

“Thanks, by the way.”

Shiro kisses his nose. “Whatever you need, baby. Whatever you need.”

 

* * *

 

The night is well into full swing when a handsome, dark-skinned man approaches Shiro at the bar. He has a camera drone hovering over one shoulder and he’s dressed in a tuxedo like everyone else, only he has an orange lanyard around his neck with a card attached that says _Media_.

“Lieutenant Shirogane, sir,” the man says and Shiro smiles as he sticks out his hand. It’s been a few years, but he would recognize his guy anywhere.

“Hi Ryan, good to see you.”

The man’s eyes widen in surprise. “You remember me, Sir?”

“Of course, I do. Your scores were off the charts. We were all disappointed when you decided to leave the space program.”

Ryan looks at him in that eerily silent way of his. Ryan has always had a stillness about him, a true observer. He was quiet enough that you could sometimes forget he was there. But he was always watching.

“You would know what it means to follow your dreams, Sir.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Word travels fast.”

“Not too fast,” Ryan answers. “My boyfriend is still tight with Lieutenant Holt. Uh. That is, Katie, I mean.”

“She’s here tonight, have you seen her?”

“Yes sir, she was the one who sent me your way.”

Shiro chuckles. “Of course, she was. But please,” Shiro waves his hand, as though trying to brush away the deference. Funny how he’d spent years of his life gunning for promotion after promotion, only to find the perks of it make his cheeks burn. “Just call me Shiro. We’re both free men now.”

He can see Ryan’s hand twitch and hopes he’s not trying to think about saluting.

Ryan nods and the camera drone at his shoulder hovers closer. It has a small red light that blinks on the side but Shiro doesn’t think it’s recording just yet. They talk for a few minutes more, Ryan expressing his interest in Shiro and Hunk’s new venture, and Shiro promises to grant him and interview once the company is off the ground. He’s always liked Ryan and he wasn’t lying when he said he’d been disappointed that Ryan had opted to choose filmmaking over the space program with the garrison.

Ryan melts back into the crowd, passing Keith as he walks away. Lance shuffles behind him and when they reach the bar, Shiro nudges over their drinks.

“Who was that?” Keith asks, glancing back over his shoulder. He’s not looking at Ryan, he’s eyeing the drone that hovers at his shoulder. He seems tense enough that Shiro bumps him gently with his hip.

“Not here for us,” he murmurs, knowing that Keith’s first instinct would fall straight into the path of the experiment. They’d already had once incident where their situation had drawn unwanted attention and Keith was loathe to repeat it. “That was Ryan Kinkade.”

“Oh, did you talk to Kinkade?” Lance asks, taking a sip of his drink. He frowns briefly and glances down at it before shrugging and taking another sip. His eyes are bright, shiny with a buzz that he’s busily nurturing with every new drink. “Cool guy,” Lance continues. “Doesn’t really talk much though. I told him he should come by the LifeFlight base so he can see what _real_ pilots fly.”

Lance puffs out his chest and jerks a thumb at himself. His grin is smug enough that Shiro feels only mildly bad about bursting his bubble. He has to work hard to hold back his amusement.

“Lance, you realise Ryan is actually a trained fighter pilot, right? He was shortlisted for the garrison’s space program. Top scores, actually.”

Lance pales and his shoulders sag. “Wait… What?”

Shiro pats him gently on the shoulder as Keith snickers quietly.

“It was his back-up plan if his filmmaking didn’t work out. Guess the filmmaking is working out.”

He walks off, tugging Keith after him and leaving Lance spluttering behind him.

 

* * *

 

Allura sits alone at the table, grateful to give her aching feet a chance to rest. She adores the chance to dress up and wear her gorgeous sparkly heels for the first time in forever, but the pinching of her toes is something she could do without.

She’s waiting for Lance to bring back a new round of drinks when she sees him. A familiar shot of white hair through the crowd, huddled at a table with a collection of other familiar faces. Seeing him there is like a bucket of cold water has been thrown over her head, leaving her blood feeling like ice in her veins and her skin prickling.

He hadn’t told her he would be attending. When had he arrived? The gala has been going for hours now and she’s only just spied him. He knew she would be in attendance and he hadn’t bothered to seek her out?

The iron butterflies brushing against her insides are painful enough they drown out the ache of her feet and she strides forward, smiling tightly at those who greet her as she passes but not pausing to chat. She arrives at the table only a few short beats later but it might as well be an age the way that time around her seems to slow down.

Her father. Her father was here, smiling at the table surrounded by faces she doesn’t recognize.

“Father.”

He looks up, as though only just noticing her for the first time. It stings a little but the sting is soothed by the startlingly smooth way he rises easily from his chair and reaches for her, folding her into his arms. He feels frail against her, but somehow strong too.

Her father, her hero.

A bead of sweat trickles between her shoulder blades and she glances around quickly to look for Lance, only to realise he’s occupied with Pidge and Hunk. With any luck, she can steal this moment with her father before he realises where she’s gone. She’s too tired for the emotional wounds tearing open that will be inevitable between Lance and her father tonight.

“Allura, my dear daughter.” He smiles at her.

“I was not aware that you would be attending tonight.”

His smile turns brittle. His tone carries a hint of reprimand that makes her stiffen even with his hands laid against her bare shoulders. “I am ill, my daughter. I’m not dead.”

“Father, don’t talk like that.”

Her pain must have been strong in her voice because he softens and draws her arm close, leading her out of the gala with slow, measured steps. People smile and nod at them when they pass and she smiles tightly back. When they reach the shadowed terrace that overlooks the river, she almost sags in relief.

“I didn’t want to spoil your night,” her father says once they’re alone. He keeps her arm looped in his but covers her hand with his own. She tries not to notice how cold it feels. “I wanted you to enjoy yourself with your young man.”

Of all the things Allura had expected her father to say, those words were not what she anticipated. For a moment she blinks in confusion, because a warm bloom of hope swells on the inside of her breastbone.

Perhaps her father is finally starting to understand.

“You did?”

“Allura,” her father sighs. The terrace is quiet despite the city. The sound of cars and music feels muted. “I know how happy he makes you. How happy you make him. He worships you, and that… that is my concern.”

Another sting. She steps back without thinking, yanking her arm away. Her father watches her sadly, his mouth curved down and his thick white hair shadowing his gaze.

“How can you say such a thing?”

It hurts far more than she could ever anticipate. Does her father not wish to be happy? Does he not want her to find the love she feels she deserves? Some people spend a lifetime searching for someone to love them the way Lance loves her.

Alfor watches her calmly. Kindly. His eyes are wrinkled at the corners, so ice blue they’re almost grey in his dark face. “You’re a woman, not a goddess on a pedestal and that’s what frightens me. What happens when he realises… you are not infallible?”

The cold trickle down her spine steals her breath. “You think… you think he’ll stop loving me? Lance isn’t like that.”

“He’s younger than you, idealistic. He hasn’t seen what you’ve seen. Hasn’t been through what we’ve been through-“

“No,” she shakes her head, cutting him off sharply. “It doesn’t matter. He loves me. The past won’t change that.”

“Oh, Allura.” Alfor sighs and turns away to stare out over the river. He looks tired in the shadows now. Frail and weak. The illness was hollowing him from the inside out, stealing his grace and his compassion. For a sharp instant she’s ashamed, ashamed that he can’t see beyond the past even though he tells her he’s trying to save her future.

“He loves me,” she whispers, but it falls on deaf ears.

 

* * *

 

Shiro regrets the last glass of champagne Pidge had shoved into his hand, and he’s partway suspicious Pidge had only done it so that his count at the end of the night would be higher than hers. She could be far too devious when she wanted to be.

He weaves through the crowd, bumping into a man and apologising before he looks up and sees Regris just a few feet away. He’s talking to a tall woman, all lean muscles in a skin hugging black jumpsuit trimmed in indigo that leaves the toned lines of her back bared to the world. He can’t see her face but she holds herself rigidly straight, her movements are sharp and purposeful.

Something about her tickles the back of his mind but his thoughts are too sloppy from the champagne he can’t follow the thought where it leads. She glances sideways, only enough for Shiro to glance her profile before she says something to Regris then moves away before Shiro can approach.

Regris is alone when Shiro reaches him. His mouth is turned down in a sharp line.

“Is everything okay?” Shiro asks.

Regris plasters a smile on his face. Shiro can almost see him shaking off the shadows of whatever conversation he had just been having. “Yes. I… yes, of course.” 

“Have you seen Keith?”

Regris looks more alarmed than Shiro would expect. “No. No I haven’t. When did you last see him?”

“Just a few minutes ago,” Shiro answers. He files Regis’s unusual reaction away to ponder later. Keith can’t be far, maybe he got waylaid on his way to the bathrooms or the bar, he knows so many of the people here tonight. “But the limo is here to take us home.”

Regris gives Shiro a troubled look. “Do me a favour, will you?”

“Sure,” Shiro smiles pleasantly. “What do you need?”

“Keep an eye on that husband of yours.”

 

* * *

 

The band plays the last song just as Keith manages to find Shiro in the crowds streaming towards the door. Hunk is beside him, Pidge flanked between them so she doesn’t get trampled in the crowd.

“Why are these idiots in such a hurry?” Pidge complains loudly. “Do they think they’re going to get stuck in here or something?”

“Nah, babe, everyone just wants to get home and get frisky,” Hunk answers with an exaggerated wink.

Pidge pulls a face. “Gross,” she mutters but Keith can’t say he agrees. He’s had enough of the gala, of the people crowding around them and the itch of Regris’s revelation has been steadily building all night to the point it scratches against his spine in an unpleasant way. He wants to grab his husband, go home, and not see another person for the next thirty-two hours.

“Hey,” Keith says breathlessly when Shiro finally reaches him. He snags Shiro’s bionic hand and gives it a squeeze as he follows behind Hunk to tug them both outside and into the night air. At the bottom of the stairs, their limo waits and Hunk and Pidge waste no time in throwing open the door and scrambling inside. Allura slides in after them, demurely holding up the trail of her dress so that it doesn’t get dragged through the gutter. Lance disappears into it next and Shiro is about to follow suit before Keith tightens his grip on his hand and stops him.

“Let’s walk instead.”

Shiro pauses on the step. “It’s a long way home.”

Keith grins. “Good, then you’ll have time to sober up.”

Shiro laughs then leans in to address the group already piled in the limo. There’s a short chorus of protests when he announces they’re going to walk and a loudly slurred insult from Lance flung in Keith’s direction that has Keith rolling his eyes.

“You don’t want us making out in the limo do you?” Shiro asks them mildly.

There’s another chorus of protests. Lance is easily the loudest. “No. Nope. Definitely don’t want that!”

Pidge elbows Lance out of the way to stick her head out of the window. Lance whimpers in pain from the knee he gets in his crotch.

“Whoops, sorry Allura.”

Allura laughs behind her hand. “It’s alright, Pidge.”

“Hey, why are you apologizing to her for, it was my junk you stepped on!”

Pidge leers Allura. “Hey if you need a replacement for his bits, I know a good to-“

“NO. NOPE. Oh my god, how can someone so tiny be so evil?” Lance narrows his eyes at her the best he can but the menacing effect is ruined by the way he currently has his hands cupped over his groin and he’s hunched over. His voice drops to a whimper. “And so heavy?”

Pidge kicks him lightly in the shin again before Hunk scoops her up and deposits her on his other side so she’s out of reach of Lance.

“This is friendship brutality!” Lance bemoans dramatically. “I demand a refund!”

Allura pats Lance reassuringly before clearing her throat. She peers up at Shiro. “So, brunch tomorrow?”

Shiro rubs the back of his neck. “Mind if we make it dinner instead?”

“Heck yeah I’m gonna need time to recover,” Lance scowls. “And I refuse to get up before midday.”

“Isn’t that just a usual day for you?” Shiro hears Keith mutter from behind him.

“Done,” Shiro announces loudly, talking over whatever new protest Lance was thinking up.

Shiro shuts the door and taps the Limo’s roof before it pulls away from the curb, leaving them alone. The night is balmy despite the late hour and the breeze off the river smells faintly briny but it’s cool against their cheeks. Keith stands on a higher step, bringing them eyelevel with each other. He drapes his hands over Shiro’s shoulders.

“Hi, gorgeous,” Shiro murmurs.

Shiro tilts his head forward, bridging the space between them until their brows touch. Keith is conscious of the crowd still mingling around them, the constant flow of taxi’s and limo’s collecting the rest of the guests. Most attendees look worse for wear at this time of night, heels off, shirts unbuttoned. Keith has long since taken off his suit jacket, dangling it from his finger tips over Shiro’s back as they kiss.

“Hi, yourself,” Keith murmurs back.

Shiro slips his hands over Keith’s waist, sliding against the material of his shirt until they come to rest against Keith’s hips possessively. It had been something special to attend this gala as part of a couple. He’d been proud to introduce Shiro as his husband, to see the admiration and speculation in people’s eyes when they realised who he was. And that he was Keith’s.

Shiro leans in to brush his lips over his. His lips are slightly tacky from the champagne, cool from the breeze but his breath is warm.

“Did you have a good night, baby?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, his voice coloured with surprise. He links his hands behind Shiro’s neck. “I did.”

“Because of me?” Shiro hedges.

Keith grins, eyes sparkling. “Yes, you big dork. Because of you.”

He likes the person he is with Shiro. Shiro is kind and compassionate, and maybe sometimes a little bit of a dork. He’s warm, cordial, a gentleman. He brings out the warmth in Keith, and he’s good. It had been almost hard to believe that Shiro could love him. Someone like Shiro, so brave and beautiful, if he could love Keith then it meant Keith was good too. Something special. Standing here with Shiro, he believed it.

He doesn’t say any of this, just leans forward and lets Shiro’s lips meet his, allows their arms curl around each other. allows the warm calm and contentment settle over him that comes with knowing he’s safe here with Shiro. That he’s loved.

Eventually they pull apart and link hands, walking along the path that winds along the river, the same path they had run together in the early days of their marriage. They’d run it together many times since, with Keith cheating by vaulting over the footbridge on just a few occasions and Keith had come to associate this part of the city with their time together. It was nice.

They find a small gelato bar and Shiro orders them two small cups of flavours, a lemon sorbet for himself and cookies and cream for Keith that they end up swapping, sharing off each other’s spoons even though the flavours don’t really go together. They sit on small stools, knees knocking together, heads bent towards each other. Lit up in the soft glow of the shop’s interior, Keith decides his husband has never looked more sexy than he did right then with his suit jacket draped across his knees and his bow tie undone at his throat. Even his hair is slightly mussed, a shock of pale silver falling forward over his face.

Keith reaches up the trace a finger through the strands without thinking.

“Are you ready to go home yet?” Shiro asks, sitting still and seemingly enjoying Keith’s touch on his hair.

Keith drops his gaze. “More than ready.”

“Good,” Shiro says firmly. His eyes burn bright as the enjoyment in them gives away to something hungry instead. His voice drops, becomes rough with something that feels like need. “Because I’ve been thinking about getting inside you all night.”

They quickly discard the idea of walking and find themselves a taxi instead. It’s only a short trip but it amuses Keith that it takes them back to the days of their honeymoon, travelling around the island they’d stayed on after dark in the back of a car. They keep their hands mostly to themselves on this trip, knowing there would be plenty of time once they got home but Shiro holds his hand as they bid the taxi farewell and walk up the stairs to their front door. A light has been left on and there’s a silhouette of Black against the window. He jumps down when the front door unlocks and they pad inside.

“You should have seen the way they were watching you,” Shiro murmurs a short time later as they’re peeling off their clothes. Shiro didn’t even get as far to take his pants off, too impatient to drag Keith close. The softness of Shiro’s voice is belied by the sharp grip of his hand against the back of Keith’s neck. It sends a dark thrill through him. He wants this possessiveness of Shiro on him.

“Me?” Keith whispers. “They were all watching you.”

He slides his hands up his husband’s bare arms, over the smooth skin and cool metal. Shiro’s muscles bunch under his palm, flexing where they can, humming softly where they can’t.

“I guess we look good together.”

Shiro’s hands drop to his hips and tug. Keith lets Shiro guide him, turning with him until Shiro’s chest is pressed against his back and Shiro’s mouth is at his cheek. Shiro is a wall of heat behind him and Keith’s eyelids flutter closed. It feels so good to be held like this. It feels so good to let his walls down like this. To know he’s safe.

“Baby, open your eyes.”

A lick of memory curls through him, the echo of another moment from their beginning. Keith opens his eyes, only to find themselves positioned in front of the floor length mirror against the wall. Their bodies are illuminated only by the soft yellow glow of the lamp in the corner of their room, casting shadows and pots of gold over their skin. He’s mostly naked, only wearing his briefs that his husband’s bionic hand creeps over his skin towards, curling a finger under the waist band to tug it down.

His heart rate increases, his skin pricks, but it’s not nerves this time. This time it’s the anticipation, the knowledge that it’s only going to feel good when Shiro frees him from the confines of his underwear and curls a hand around him instead.

He watches the play of dark silver and black over the paleness of his skin, the way the joints shift and seal around him. It shouldn’t excite him like it does, the way the grip feels. It’s hard, there’s no lube save for the moisture pooling against his slit but god, he loves the way it looks. Shiro loves it too, a small hum of appreciation as his fingers shift, gently tracing over the swell between Keith’s legs.

“I can feel it,” Shiro murmurs with no small amount of wonder. “I can feel your heat now.”

“Shiro,” Keith sighs, letting his eyes fall closed and dipping his head back against Shiro’s broad chest. His knees are starting to feel weak, his body tight with need but he doesn’t want to shift away. Not when he can open his eyes and watch them both in the mirror. Not when he can see the softness on Shiro’s face as he nuzzles his lips against Keith’s jaw.

“I love you so much,” he says, his voice rough. These intimate moments with Shiro are a treasure. No barriers, no walls, no secrets. He’s never been this exposed to anyone and he can’t imagine he ever will be again. “All of you. Every bit.”

Shiro kisses him gently, his lips against Keith’s cheek, leaning around until his human hand tilts Keith’s face to the side and then their mouths meet. Shiro gives him a gentle squeeze and a light stroke as he kisses him and Keith whimpers softly.

More. He needs more.

As though reading his thoughts, Shiro releases him, turning him gently until the mirror is forgotten and they’re standing face to face. Somehow, he’s already shucked off his pants and briefs without Keith realising Keith had felt his hardness pressing against his back. He reaches out now, fumbling a hand around the both of them and pressing them together even as he tilts his face up to Shiro for another kiss.

This kiss becomes hungrier, and Shiro’s soft little moan of contentment skitters right down Keith’s spine.

That metal hand lands on the small of Keith’s back, pressing insistently until they’re chest to chest. “Keith, sweetheart. You’re my world. You’re everything.”

The words almost make Keith melt, but he reaches up to loop his arms around Shiro’s neck. He gazes

up at his husband, his blood hot and his heart thumping a melody of his name.

“Fill me up, Takashi. Give me everything.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro won’t ever get over the sight of himself sliding into his husband’s body, his human hand wrapped around him and pumping him in time, his bionic hand planted squarely under Keith’s knee and pushing it up, forcing him open. Keith’s head is thrown back, mouth parted with soft, breathy pants, shuddering out Shiro’s name through his kiss swollen lips. His body grips Shiro tightly, hot and smooth, like soft velvet. Shiro loves the way the light skims over the tensing of Keith’s abs as he shifts under Shiro, opening his legs wider as though to invite Shiro deeper.

Shiro plunges in harder, the sweat against his brow making his hair fall into his eyes and stick to his cheek. Keith likes it hard as much as he likes it soft, but the punishing pace Shiro sets is what really makes his husband sing. Keith clutches at his shoulders, short, blunt fingernails digging into Shiro’s skin. He hopes they leave a mark.

“Kashi,” Keith whimpers, eyes closed and lost to the slam of Shiro against his body. God damnit, Keith knows just the way to make Shiro teeter. No one has ever called him that, he’s only ever heard the syllables formed around his husband’s tongue and something about that makes him possessively wild. It’s his, just like Keith sprawled under him like this is his and his alone.

No one can take this away from them.

Keith rapidly reaches his limit, crying out Shiro’s name once again a moment before Shiro grabs his hips and thrusts hard, hard enough to lift him off the bed and for his hands against Shiro’s shoulders to lose their purchase. Hot splashes rain against his abdomen and the sight of that alone is enough for Shiro follow him.

He quakes as the white blooms behind his eyes and his body shivers with the crackle of electricity as the climax washes over him, his breath hitched in his chest under the force of its power. God, how can it just keep getting better like this, he wonders distantly as he sags his head against Keith’s shoulder. He’s a solid guy, and as strong as Keith is, Shiro is always conscious of not trying to smother him.

His arms tremble and he manages to catch himself just enough to throw himself so he’s only half sprawled on Keith. He’d pull out but he knows Keith likes to keep him inside him for as long as possible. He likes it too, keeping that link between their bodies. He wants this man all around him for as long as possible.

Gentle fingertips wander through his hair, smoothing it away from his face. He tries to blink, only to find his eyes too tired to open. He’s too sated to move, too worn out and languid. He listens to the song of his husband’s heartbeat under his ear and thinks about how this is a memory he wants to fold up and tuck inside his heart to remember when the years have marched on and they’re both old and crotchety.

“Am I squashing you?” he mumbles after a long minute.

Keith’s answer is an amused snort. “You’re not as big as you think you are.”

Shiro shifts, just enough to remind Keith he’s still buried deep. “That’s not what you said last night.”

Keith’s chest quivers with a laugh and his fingers trail away from Shiro’s hair to trace over his jaw. Keith’s hands are beautiful, strong and calloused, rough with a lifetime of training with a blade with his uncles or gripping the stick of an aircraft, tucked behind blue gloves as he pricks at the skin of a patient. It’s an honour to have those hands on him, Shiro thinks, but the thoughts don’t quite come to him. Sleep tugs at him and the lullaby of a sated body and a full heart carry him away.


	6. Chapter 6

The morning after the gala, Allura wakes to the warm sunlight streaming into their bedroom, washing gold over her bare skin and illuminating the subtle patterns in the sheets she has draped over her body.

Beside her, Lance is asleep, hugging a pillow as he lies face down. His breathing is deep and even. She admires the way the light that woke her shines on his skin, revealing the smattering of pale beauty spots and freckles along his shoulders. They almost look like the pinprick of stars in the night sky and she resists the urge to roll over and trace her fingers over them. She doesn’t want to wake him just yet. It had been a big night and it was still early. She wasn’t quite ready to face whatever spectre had bloomed up between them.

Lance had been quiet when they arrived home the night before, more intense than usual in the way he loved her, staring into her eyes as he moved inside her then refusing to abandon his hold even after he’d fallen asleep. She hadn’t thought that he had seen her speaking with her father but as she replays the previous evening in her mind, she can’t come up with another explanation as to why he suddenly seems so protective of her.

She shifts against the sheets, sliding closer to Lance to drape a bare thigh over the back of his legs and sliding her arm gently against his waist. She kisses his shoulder lightly, knowing what a heavy sleeper he is that he won’t even register her touch beyond more than a soft hum as he automatically curls towards her and she takes the chance to snuggle closer. These quiet moments while he sleeps against her are her favourite.

She’s safe here. Loved. Here in this room that they’d made theirs. Almost all of the furniture were pieces they’d picked out together early in their relationship, on a date where Lance had hired a flashy convertible for the weekend and they’d driven all over the countryside and stopped by various yard sales. She had thought he was joking when he’d come across a piece of furniture and would pause in front of it with a hand on his chin and his eyes narrowed as he hummed over the price. She was ashamed that at first, that she had turned her nose up the second-hand furniture, having grown up with the finer things in life thanks to her father’s wealth and unable to see past its flaws and scratched edges.

Lance could though, and a few weeks later, he’d unveiled the pieces with a flourish. Two side tables sanded back and repainted, new handles, a new life breathed into them. And they were beautiful, and every time Allura looked at them she was reminded of the way Lance had the capacity to love something that to anyone else seemed tired, broken and ready to be forgotten, only to have him breathe a new life into it.

And isn’t that exactly what he had done for her? He’d found her at a time in her life she wasn’t sure she had anything left to offer, working herself to the bone, trying to find a meaning in her work where she couldn’t anywhere else. He encouraged her to have a little fun, let her hair down.

Breathed life back into her. Reminded her of her worth.

His skin is warm under her lips as she kisses him again, her heart so full with gratitude that he loved her, of the life they’re creating together. One day they’ll have children, blue eyed, darked skinned little wonders that he’ll carry on his shoulders and together they’ll laugh and smile and she’ll finally have the family she’s always craved deep down in her heart of hearts.

His breathing changes as he rolls over with a hum, lying so that their heads are close together and face to face. His hair sticks up at odd angles, mussed from the pillows and his eyes are still heavy lidded with sleep. He still smiles when he sees her. He always does.

Allura traces a finger tip down his cheek, light stubble catching against her skin. He’ll get up and shave soon, then rub his cheek against hers and declare it keeps him looking young, teasing her gently about the age difference between them.

Her father’s words from the night before push their way to the forefront of her mind and the curve of her lips fade. She had always trusted that Lance could see her for who she truly was, past the façade and the name but perhaps her father was right, and what he saw wasn’t really the truth.

The thought settles in her gut like a lead weight.

Lance catches the change in her eyes and gathers up her hand. He presses it against his bare chest, right over his heart. His voice is rough with sleep.

“Allura?”

She pulls her gaze from his worried eyes and casts it around the room. This was their space, the pieces of their life together and she felt more loved and at home in these four walls than she ever had in her father’s sprawling penthouse where she grew up. Everything in this room held a memory, the photo on the bedside table of their first date, the beautiful crystal vase Lance had given her one year for her birthday filled with the fresh flowers she always insisted on gracing the duchess in the corner. A duchess Lance had found abandoned in the back corner of a second-hand shop and carted home, only to lovingly restore it and paint it in the softest pinks she loved so much.

A little mismatched, a little worn, but cared for and loved and treasured just like they were.

“I love you, Lance.” she murmurs softly. “So very much.”

He smiles and moves her hand to kiss her fingers. “I will always love you, princess.”

 

* * *

 

Music plays on the car stereo as it growls along the highway leading out of the city. Shiro hums along as his husband drives, until the tickle of salt against his nose makes him turn. Keith’s hair whips loosely around his face, caught in the wind leaking through from the opened sunroof, reflective aviators hiding his gaze.

They can’t hide the small upturn of his lips though.

“So where are you taking me? This looks like the way out to the coast.”

“It is,” Keith answers but he doesn’t elaborate, concentrating on the road ahead. He looks so good in the driver’s seat of this car, Shiro almost secretly hopes he never bothers to replace the bike he’d lost in the accident a few weeks ago.

The accident that still made his shoulder ache no matter how much Keith tried to hide it.

The accident that still left so many questions lingering at the back of Shiro’s mind, the unease when he thinks about the unmarked car, the lack of plates. The way whomever had been driving seemed to know exactly where Keith would be and where to aim.

Keith insisted it was nothing more than just that, an accident, but Shiro can’t ignore the way the whole incident won’t leave his thoughts alone. There have been nights he’s lain awake thinking about it, how close he’d come to losing the man beside him, wondering if someone out there was intent on destroying his happiness.

It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility, not with the company Keith’s half-sisters are suspected to keep. His sisters-in-law. That was a thought that sat oddly in his mind. He tries to picture them all seated around a table during one of the holidays then snorts softly to himself at the ridiculousness of the picture.

It wasn’t likely to happen in this or any other life time, but if Keith was okay with that, then so was he.

Shiro raises his hand, sticking it out of the open window to allow the air to push against it. The upgrades in the tech Hunk had given him continue to surprise him. He curls and flexes his bionic arm, letting the airflow curl around the metal fingers. He can feel the pressure of the wind as though it was on skin.

Astounding.

“Sometimes I forget that I’m part machine,” he says quietly, more to himself. “What Hunk has achieved-“

“You’re not part machine,” Keith scoffs. Then he slides Shiro a softer glance. “At least I don’t see you that way.”

“No,” Shiro muses, smiling. “You never have.”

“And I never will.”

Shiro draws his hand back inside the cabin and reaches his other hand to lay it against Keith’s knee. He’s dressed casually today, in light jeans despite the summer heat and a fitted white shirt. Keith hums happily at the contact and Shiro settles back in his seat for the rest of the drive.

The smell of the coastline, salt and sea, gets stronger as Keith turns down an unfamiliar road. They’re close to the ocean now, close enough that seagulls wheel overhead and an occasional pelican perches on a street light. Soon a small harbour comes into view, the masts of a huddle of sailboats now visible in the distance. There’s a briny tang to the air, and it’s not until later when they pass a small collection of fishing trawlers that Shiro realises why.

For now, Keith steers the car into a car park by the water and cuts the engine.

Shiro looks out the window curiously. “Okay, well, this is nice.”

“Do you remember a few weeks back when we talked about the crash?”

The crash.

Shiro had always thought of it has _his_ crash, since he’d been the pilot. Funny how Keith always refused to call it that. He wasn’t the only one. Pidge and Matt had been just as stubborn. But it was his crash. He’d been the one in control. He’d been the one who couldn’t wrestle that prototype. through the storm.

He tilts his head, his heart suddenly beating a little faster and harder in his chest. “Yes?”

“Well, uh. There’s someone I think you’d like to meet.”

 

* * *

 

After leaving the car, Keith leads him through the marina, consulting his phone as they weave through the maze of walkways between the various watercraft. Shiro looks down, into the sparkling water and spies a silvery school of fish darting between the rocks. A seagull, looking far too chubby to not be well fed from the fishing co-op not too far away, perches with fluffy feathers ruffled by the breeze on painted tip of one of the pylons they pass. Overhead, more of them circle in the blue sky.

The further out they walk along the docks, the larger the boats become, until Keith finally stops at the final craft bobbing gently in the water. It’s not as large as some of the other motorized yachts or catamarans in the marina but this one stands out amongst the others with a sleek, glossy black hull.

A man with wispy white hair swept back from a deeply tanned face that spoke of a life on the ocean crouches on the walkway the black cruiser is moored to. He looks up as they approach but his slanted ice blue eyes under fly away white brows above high cheekbones and set in a long face doesn’t seem at all familiar.

Shiro lets Keith take the lead, watching curiously as Keith raises a hand in greeting.

The man in question rises to his feet, unfolding to his full height. Shiro eyes widen. It’s not often he comes across men taller than himself but this man makes him have to crane his neck just to look him in the eye.

Keith’s hand looks comically small when he holds it out.

“Keith,” the man rumbles, a deep voice that’s flushed with warm pleasure. The casual use of Keith’s name and the warmth in the man’s tone is startling enough that Shiro doesn’t quite catch what Keith says in return.

After they shake hands, Keith turns back to Shiro. “Shiro, this is Ulaz.”

Keith looks at him as though he should know the name. Or at least recognize this man and his brows furrow in confusion when he doesn’t.

Shiro politely holds out his bionic hand to Ulaz anyway. “Hello.”

Ulaz’s lips curve upwards in a gentle smile. “Hello, Shiro. It’s good to see you again.”

_Again?_ He doesn’t remember meeting this man. His striking appearance should have been one he wouldn’t easily forget. Something tickles at the back of his mind, but it’s too fleeting to register beyond a mild annoyance.

Shiro frowns and flicks a glance at Keith. Keith has a small smile on his face but it doesn’t give anything away.

“I’m... I’m sorry,” he says to Ulaz after a moment. The big man still has his hand in his, eyeing it curiously. It’s his bionic hand but Shiro is used to the attention it garners. Shiro tilts his head questioningly. “Do I know you?”

Ulaz rumbles something that might have been a light laugh. He releases Shiro’s palm and straightens further.

“My apologies, it seems we have a lot to talk about. Perhaps it would be more comfortable to speak on the boat. Follow me.”

Without waiting for an answer, Ulaz turns on his heel and walks the short distance to board the black hulled vessel. Keith holds his hand out and tugs Shiro after him. It’s not until they’re settled on the boat’s deck with cold beers in their hands that Shiro feels like he can ask the question again. He’s confused as to why they are here.

It’s not Ulaz that answers though.

Instead, Ulaz turns to Keith, perched against one side a short distance away as though trying to give Shiro and Ulaz a small modicum of privacy, although Shiro doesn’t quite understand what for. It’s clear Ulaz and Keith know each other but Shiro hasn’t figured out how it applies to himself yet.

Keith pushes the dark aviator sunglasses he wears to protect him from the harsh glare off the water up his nose with one hand. In the other, he holds the beer against his knee, small rivers of condensation already running down the side from the heat already increasing. Soon it will be too hot to sit in direct sunlight, and Shiro wonders if a storm will build later as the rising humidity makes his shirt stick to his back.

Shiro licks his lips takes a small sip of his own drink. Maybe some liquid courage will help him focus.

“Ulaz was part of the aircrew that night. He was the medic that pulled you from the wreck,” Keith finally says.

It takes a moment for the words to penetrate through the buzzing in Shiro’s mind. He dips into the few disjointed memoires of that night he can still bear to face, searching for a familiar recollection of the man seated in front of him.

But there’s nothing.

“I, uh-“

“It’s alright,” Ulaz chuckles quietly. “I don’t expect you to remember. It was an awful night, the storm-“

Ulaz shakes his head and distantly Shiro registers a crack before a trickle of something wet lands against his knees.

“Shit,” Keith mutters, immediately putting down his beer and darting to Shiro’s side. He pulls the cracked beer bottle away from Shiro’s bionic hand. “I’m sorry, I should have realised this would be triggering.”

“No,” Shiro shakes his head and goes to grab Keith’s hand before he can move away. He uses human thumb to trace his wrist, seeking out the gentle pulse against Keith’s skin to calm him. It doesn’t take long, barely a few beats, only long enough for Ulaz to leave and return with a fresh bottle and a towel to soak up the mess.

Despite Shiro’s embarrassed apology and the puddle at his feet mopped up, Ulaz calmly twists off the lid and hands Shiro a replacement bottle.

Shiro looks at it helplessly. “Maybe I should pass on that.”

“The worst part is over now.”

Shiro still hesitates but Ulaz doesn’t withdraw his hand. It’s hot and he’s thirsty so he takes it anyway, murmuring his thanks quietly.

Ulaz takes his seat on the other side of the deck. He was right, once the initial shock had worn off, Shiro already feels stronger. He takes a determined sip of his drink, forcing his muscles to relax. He pays special care to his bionic arm, subtly testing its range with a flex of his wrist and fingers before he realises his husband is watching him closely.

Keith reaches out to brush his knuckles against Shiro’s cheek. There’s guilt in his eyes and it twists in Shiro’s gut. He doesn’t want Keith feeling guilty over his reaction. Not about this. He forces a smile and does his best to wash that flicker away.

“I’m okay,” he whispers, and he means it. He looks back at Ulaz. “More than okay. Let’s try this again.”

This time it’s Shiro that gets up and leans across the small table in the centre of the deck to offer his hand to Ulaz. “Ulaz, I owe you my life. Thank you.”

Ulaz squeezes his hand back warmly and Shiro sits down again. Keith hovers close by, until Shiro gives his husband’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

Keith bites his lip, still wary but with a small nod, he steps back and moves back to the side of the boat. He turns his head to look out over the water but Shiro knows he’s still listening.

Shiro faces Ulaz once again.

It’s strange to look at this man in front of him but not be able to find him in his memories. From what he had been told, Ulaz had been the one to pry him from the wreckage of the place, stabilizing him so that he didn’t bleed out before they could get him into critical care. He has a dim recollection of a storm, of the rain on his skin and voices shouting but not much else and his mind instinctively shies away from trying to search any deeper.

Ulaz doesn’t offer him any details he doesn’t ask for. In truth, he’s not sure he wants them anyway. It’s been years since the crash, years since he spent months rehabilitating both his body and his mind. He’s put it behind him now, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be grateful to the one who ensured he was able to be where he was today.

He owed Ulaz his life, although when he says as much, Ulaz chuckles deeply and exchanges a gently amused look with Keith.

“It was my job,” Ulaz says and Keith nods in what can only be understanding. “But I must admit, there is some kind of beautiful symmetry in the fact that you have found love with one of our own,” Ulaz continues.

Shiro glances over at his husband, once again staring out over the water, a drink in hand. His aviators shield his eyes but Shiro spies the small twitch of his lips that tell him he’s still aware of everything and listening to the whole conversation.

It’s an interesting turn of phrase that Ulaz uses, _one of their own_. As they talk further, Shiro realises he’s not entirely sure what Ulaz is referring to, whether it’s Keith’s ties to the emergency services and rescue organizations, or if it goes back further, to the apparent history he shares with Keith’s uncle Kolivan.

“I remember you as a child,” Ulaz rumbles at Keith, surprising both of them. “But I’m sure you don’t remember me.”

Keith peers at Ulaz. “No, I don’t.”

“It was years ago that I served with Kolivan. So many years ago although I doubt time has softened his opinion of me.”

“Oh?”

Ulaz chuckles once again. “We never did quite see eye to eye, but that is a story for another day.”

Keith hums and stands up, glancing at his watch. “We should get going, I think we’ve taken up enough of your time, Ulaz.”

“Not at all, it’s been nice to have some company.”

“Thank you again,” Shiro says, offering Ulaz one last handshake as they disembark the boat and head back through the marina. Ulaz waves when he glances back but then he’s swallowed up by the glare of the sun.

 

* * *

 

The drive back to the townhouse is silent and Keith finds himself chewing his lip so much he draws blood. He’d been so relieved to track down Ulaz, he hadn’t considered that giving Shiro a heads up would have been the smart thing to do. It hadn’t been fair to spring it on him like he did, but it didn’t matter how earnestly he apologized, Shiro didn’t want to hear it.

“I’m sorry,” he finally blurts again in the cabin of Shiro’s black beast. Keith kind of wishes he’d insisted on driving so that he had something else to concentrate on instead of just the guilt pooling in his stomach. Shiro had handled the visit well, but he was quiet on the walk back to the car. “I should have realised-“

“Keith, it’s fine. I’m really grateful actually. I don’t know why I never thought about trying to find them before now. It was amazing to be able to shake his hand and look him in the eye and say thank you for saving my life. That was a gift, Keith.”

Keith can’t look away from his husband’s profile as he drives. “Still. I should have warned you.”

“It’s fine, baby,” Shiro smiles and then his hand is curling around Keith’s fingers. He’s staring straight ahead at the road but he’s smiling. Just a soft smile. An indulgent one that somehow puts Keith’s mind at least more than his words. “I’m okay, I promise. But do me a favour, stop beating yourself up over it.”

“I’m not-“

“You are. I mean it when I say you have nothing to apologize for. Let it go.”

The sharpness of his husband’s tone stings. It’s almost a little shocking how much it does. Keith can sense the irritation, the trumped-up nerves that meld and flow from the both of them. If he holds onto his mistake, he’s only going to frustrate Shiro more but it doesn’t feel right to brush it aside. Keith knows he misjudged. He caused Shiro distress by not warning him. Hell, he should have at discussed it with him at the very least.

He stares at Shiro’s profile, the set line of his lips for a moment longer then shifts his gaze straight ahead, noting the road signs as they loom overhead.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro falls asleep faster than Keith could have thought possible but he lies awake beside him for most of the night, berating himself for not warning his husband of the memories that would be dredged to the surface.

It’s almost a relief when the nightmare comes.

He notices the change in Shiro’s breathing instantly. It’s followed by Shiro’s limbs tensing, turning rigid like steel under the sheets. He doesn’t cry out, but there are long moments that he tosses his head against the pillow and all Keith can seem to do is rub his shoulder and his chest with his palm, hoping, praying, that his touch is enough to keep the worst of his demons at bay.

It feels like an age before Shiro’s breath hitches on a final gasp and his eyes snap open.

“Shiro,” Keith says with a calmness that belies the way his heart throws its self against his ribcage. “Takashi.”

It takes a long moment before Shiro blinks and a shudder rolls over him. He gropes for Keith in the dim light, turning over and against him. He’s so big and heavy against Keith’s leaner frame but Keith wraps his arms around him just the same, murmuring his love into the soft strands of his husband’s hair.

“You’re okay, it’s okay. I love you.”

Shiro presses his face into the soft skin of Keith’s neck. “Is this real? Are you real?”

The echo of the same question Keith had asked days earlier tugs against his heart. He curls tighter around his husband, using all the strength he has to squeeze away the bad dreams. “I’m real, ‘Kashi. So are you. So are we.”

There’s a brief pause then Shiro mumbles something unintelligible against his skin. Keith doesn’t bother to ask him to repeat it, he knows the shape of the words on Shiro’s mouth intimately. He presses a kiss to Shiro’s brow and holds him until he falls back asleep.

Then he stays awake for the rest of the night continuing to hold him, vowing to keep any more nightmares from knocking at his door.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro meets an old friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is nsfw... consider it a peace offering (heh) for taking so damn long to get this update up *sob*

Lately, it feels a lot like every time Pidge turns around, there are romantic relationships. At home, her parents still act like newlyweds. At the garrison, almost every person she works alongside in her lab is either dating or married or engaged.

She’s starting to wonder if there’s something in the water.

It’s not really so bad, since she’s not exactly single herself (and hasn’t been for a very long time), but lately she finds herself staring at her big, beautiful boyfriend and wonders if maybe he might want to jump on the bandwagon and need more.

She does. She thinks. But she’s also not sure she’s holding a little something back.

It’s too awkward a subject to discuss with Matt. No matter how old she is, her brother Matt will always look at her like she’s six years old with her hair in pigtails and only a half-formed view of the world that doesn’t exist outside their life on the garrison base.

And relationships and whatnot… _Yikes,_ no. Matt wasn’t the person to talk to for that.

But Shiro… her brother in every way that mattered, except for the fact he knows she’s not a kid anymore and never treats her like one. Never lets his own emotions get in the way of what she needs from him. She could talk to him.

And that’s how at six am on a midweek morning, she finds herself thumping over the wet footpaths under treelined streets and starting up the sandstone steps that lead to the door of the townhouse Shiro shares with his new husband.

She jostles with her umbrella, snapping it shut and using the tip to rap smartly on the door. It doesn’t take long for Shiro to pull the door open, dressed casually in faded jeans and one of his trademark Henley’s in a grey dark enough to rival the gunmetal shade of his eyes.

His eyes widen slightly in surprise but his smile is warm and bright, instantly reassuring her that her early unannounced visit isn’t unwelcome. She had known he would be awake. Shiro’s days often started before dawn, intent as he was on ensuring he kept up with his training to ensure his body was strong enough to wield the heavy prosthetic arm.

“Pidge, you’re up early. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she nods, her mouth suddenly dry. One small hand rises to fiddle with the thin wire frames around her eyes. Shiro takes the motion for what it is, a small stalling tactic when her words fail her and he reaches out to lay a heavy hand against her shoulder. His smile softens and she exhales a breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding.

“Come on in out of the rain.”

He heads inside and she pads in after him, slipping off her shoes by the door and leaving them beside a pair of black heavy boots that could only be Keith’s. This had been her home too not too long ago, when Shiro had broken away from the garrison for the first time and still healing after his accident. She shouldn’t be surprised that he’s decided to break away from it for a second time.

“Is Keith up?” she asks as she trails after him into the kitchen. She slides onto one of the stools at the breakfast bench and props her chin up on one hand. The granite is cold under her elbow and the rain outside still beats against the glass of the closed patio doors, shedding small rivers down the clear surface. A lamp in the corner of the living area is the only warm glow other than the hanging pendant lights above the bench.

Shiro slips into the kitchen, filling the kettle up at the sink before he flicks it on.

“He’s still asleep,” Shiro tells her. “He wasn’t back until pretty late last night.”

She hums noncommittally at his answer but inside she’s slightly relieved. She likes Keith, but she doesn’t know him quite well enough to voice whatever is on her mind in front of him. Actually, now that she’s here in Shiro’s kitchen, watching him prepare the oolong tea he knows she loves so much and insists he always has a good stash of, she’s not so sure she can even voice it to him.

Shiro keeps their conversation light, asking after her parents as though he doesn’t already know. She rolls her eyes when he mentions her mother, knowing full well that Colleen and Shiro talk at least twice a day.

“Seriously? You should ask her yourself when you see her later,” she grumbles when Shiro pushes the now prepared tea towards her. “You talk to her more than I do.”

Shiro chuckles. “Help me out here, I’m trying to make conversation. Want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

For a split second she freezes then swallows thickly. “Uh.”

Shiro waits silently, one eyebrow raised just a fraction for a long moment before exhaling. He seems amused. “Okay, well, I’m glad we sorted that out.”

Pidge huffs and hunches over her tea. “Doesn’t matter, it was dumb anyway.”

“It’s not dumb if it’s bothering you. Is this about Hunk?”

Pidge blinks, her trail of thought skipping too far ahead and briefly panicking. How could he know? Was he a mind reader? No, she wasn’t ready to face this after all but then Shiro continues and Pidge wants to groan internally.

“-because I know you’re worried about him, but I promise I’m going to do the right thing by him, Pidge. I know how much the garrison means to you and I know Hunk-“

“No, it’s not that. I’m happy if he’s happy. I mean, I miss him, you know. I miss having him in the lab but he’s so excited about what you guys are doing. Space was never really his thing anyway. I sometimes wonder if he only took the garrison contracts because of me.”

“You think because Hunk isn’t part of the garrison now, he won’t want to stay with you?”

“No! I mean… maybe? I don’t know.”

“Hunk loves you. He’s not going anywhere. And if he does, I’ll have stern words for him.”

Shiro puts his hands on his hips and frowns, like a severe school teacher and it’s too ridiculous. Pidge can’t help but scoff. “You’re so lame.”

Shiro relaxes and laughs good naturedly, unbothered by her teasing.  “Mind if I eat?”

“No,” she says, wincing internally. It probably would have been good manners to bring something with her to share, especially at this early hour. But Shiro didn’t seem to mind. She wasn’t good at those kinds of social niceties. Sometimes she just forgot.

“What is it?” she asks when Shiro pulls open the refrigerator door and stares into its abyss as though it holds the key to the universe. He’s frowning and she’s fairly sure it’s not just the early start that’s making him look so annoyed.

Shiro grips the fridge handle tightly. 

“Keith,” he calls out. He pauses for a moment then calls out again, this time slightly louder. “Keith!”

There’s a thud of footsteps overhead then a thump as they reach the stairs. Keith’s voice wafts down from the stairwell. He sounds faintly waspish. “ _What?”_

“We’re out of milk,” Shiro informs him loudly. “And why is the empty carton still in the fridge?”

The footsteps make their clatter down the stairs. Keith appears, looking disgruntled but also faintly sheepish. He’s pulled on jeans and a black tee but his hair is a scruffy mess around his shoulders. He rubs the back of his neck as he slinks into the kitchen. “Sorry, I put it there to remind myself to get more. I’ll grab more on my way home later.”

Shiro lets the fridge door fall closed with a dull slam. He looks pointedly over at the bowl of dry cereal on the bench and exasperation leaks into his voice. “Well, that doesn’t help me now, does it?”

She forces herself to watch out of the corner of her eye. Sometimes the two of them were like the sun. She couldn’t look too closely at them without risk of being blinded, especially when they acted like they were now. As though she had ceased to exist.

She’d been holding herself so rigid, maybe she had.

She doesn’t miss the small upturn of Shiro’s lips as Keith shifts to his side though. He steps into Shiro’s space and tilts up his face, one hand landing to rest on the beltloop of Shiro’s pants as a finger hooks in to hold him in place.

Keith’s voice is low, but it carries easily enough to where Pidge sits. “Okay, okay, I’ll go get some now.”

“You’d better,” Shiro says. His voice sounds rough. “I’m hungry. I could use some breakfast.”

“Wouldn’t want you to starve,” Keith grins. His voice drops an octave lower. Pidge remains frozen at the counter barely a few metres away, her eyes trying not to budge. No, she won’t look but she can still hear everything. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

There’s a faint rustle of fabric when they press their bodies together and Shiro wraps his arms around his husband. She can hear a soft murmur and Keith’s small laugh as they talk quietly.

She can also hear the soft smacking noises as they kiss and that proves to be too much.

“Okay, that’s it!” she yelps, pushing back her stool with a loud scrape on the floorboards. “I should go. Let you guys have some privacy.”

She’s mildly satisfied when they jump apart guiltily. Shiro glances over Keith’s head at her, his expression guilty.

He clears this throat. “Sorry, Pidge.”

She snorts, shaking her head. “No, you’re not. But either he goes or I go, because there’s only so much gross PDA I can handle at this time of the morning.”

Keith takes another step away from Shiro, his back to Pidge. She can see his shoulders shaking slightly and it takes a beat for her to realise that he’s laughing under his breath.

It makes her scowl harder.

“No, Pidge, you can stay. Keith was just leaving.” Shiro glances at the man in front of him pointedly. “Weren’t you, Keith?”

Keith grins when Shiro nudges him towards the internal stairs that lead down into the garage. He tosses the car keys in his hands, flicking them up and snatching them deftly before he pauses at the doorway. He looks over his shoulder. “Hey, Pidge.”

She eyes him warily. “What?”

She doesn’t know Keith that well enough yet but he reminds her a lot of herself. Sometimes a little brash, sometimes a little sharp. He never is around Shiro though. Around Shiro, he’s all soft smiles and shining eyes but to be fair, if he had been anything but, she wouldn’t have wanted him for her brother.

Keith’s mouth quirks up in a way that Pidge knows she isn’t going to like what comes next.

“Don’t be here when I get back.”

He’s gone before she can splutter out a response or think to throw something at him. There’s the faint slam of a car door and the hum of the garage door opening before the heat finally dies on Shiro’s cheeks and he can bring himself to meet her eye once again.

She narrows her gaze at him. “You know, you used to be a lot cooler before you got married.”

 

* * *

 

Pidge is long gone when Keith gets back almost two hours later with the milk, a few other groceries and a special treat packaged up neatly in a glossy white box.

Shiro crowds him close in the kitchen, preventing him from actually putting anything away without stealing a soft kiss first. Keith doesn’t complain. The press of Shiro’s lips on his is as much coming home as walking through the door to their townhouse.

Neither would be complete without the other.

Shiro hums then smiles. He steps back to give Keith the space he needs and Keith rushes to shove the few items in the fridge and pantry. When the only thing left is the small white box, he nudges it over the countertop towards his husband.

Shiro eyes it, flicking his gaze quickly to Keith before he picks up the box. He lifts the lid slowly and peeks inside as Keith shifts uncomfortably on his feet.

“Consider it a peace offering,” Keith says quietly.

Shiro glances up briefly and chuckles. “A peace offering? Leaving an empty milk carton in the fridge is hardly a crime, Keith.”

Keith gives him a tight smile but he’s sure Shiro can see the strain around his mouth. The heavy prickles of discomfort still sit in his stomach, no matter how much Shiro tries to downplay the smudges under his eyes from his disrupted sleep.

“No, a peace offering for… for the other day.”

Keith can see the cogs turning in Shiro’s mind and Shiro’s little smile slips. A frown forms instead.

“Keith-“

“Your nightmares have come back. They… they haven’t bothered you for a long time.”

Shiro huffs and runs a hand through his hair. His pale strands stick up against the black and it does nothing to hide the tightness around his eyes.

Keith studies him closely. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

He can see the way the shadow forms behind Shiro’s eyes that he’s not wrong. How could he be? It wasn’t any coincidence that the night following the visit with Ulaz, Shiro’s nightmares would be resurface. And not just once, but night after night until he had started skipping his usual morning workouts to sit on the patio staring into the dawn instead. Keith had tried to give him space, told himself Shiro would call him if he needed him, and not that he was ashamed he hadn’t probably thought through the consequences when he’d finally tracked down Ulaz.

“I’m sorry, Shiro. Springing Ulaz on you like that-”

There’s a flash of annoyance in Shiro’s eyes. “There’s nothing to be sorry for Keith. I told you it was a gift.”

“No,” Keith shakes his head. “I mean, I’m-“

Shiro steals the rest of his words away by dropping the box unceremoniously on the counter and hauling Keith close. Keith catches a glimpse of the heart shaped brownie tumbling across the shiny marble a split second before his husband’s mouth crashes against his. 

He entertains the thought of pushing Shiro back for a split second, trying to tell himself he doesn’t deserve the soft way Shiro is holding him despite the palpable frustration in his kiss. His arms are like bands of steel around him, strong and sure, but gentle enough to tell Keith he’s treasured, that Shiro would only need the slightest nudge from Keith and he would release him and step back. Keith has no intention of letting that happen, finally allowing the snap of shame inside him to fade under the way Shiro’s lips slide and caress his own. He might have misjudged but Shiro’s heart was big enough not to focus on the negatives. He insisted Keith had given him a gift, and maybe it was time that Keith simply took him at his word and let it go.

But Keith has never been good at letting go.

Shiro finally eases off, untangling his hand from where he’d threaded his fingers into Keith’s hair earlier and presses their foreheads together. Keith can’t see it, but he can hear the smile in his voice.

“What? No arguing back?” Shiro teases gently.

In spite of himself, Keith’s cheeks flame. “Shut up,” he mumbles and ducks his head, pressing it against Shiro’s chest. “Eat your damn brownie.”

Shiro’s thumb rubs over Keith’s jaw and his gaze turns thoughtful. Keith can’t shift his attention away from the dark smudges above his cheeks. In the early days of their marriage, during their honeymoon and just afterwards, just Keith’s presence had been powerful enough to keep the nightmares at bay.

He can’t help but wonder if his power is already slipping.

 

* * *

 

Later that night as they are tucked into the sheets of their bed with Keith’s pale limbs stretched out beside him, Shiro tries to focus on the articles Allura had sent him over to read. It’s quiet beyond the soft rumble of Black’s purring on the floor beside their bed, not even cars rumbling down the road outside to bother them. It must be late, his tablet casts a bluish glow over the room but he’s feeling strangely too unsettled to be able to concentrate.

He gives it a few more minutes before the words start to swim before his eyes and he sighs softly. He places the tablet on the bedside table gently before scooting down under the covers when the light fades. Keith rolls towards him and Shiro finds himself starting into the shine of his husband’s eyes in the darkness.

“Hey,” he says softly. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Not tired,” Keith shrugs and Shiro wants to snort inwardly at the lie. Keith’s definitely tired, he’s been grumpy for most of the afternoon, snapping at Black when the cat wove around his feet and tried to trip him up at dinner. He’d snapped at Lance when he called too, and could only manage the politest of grunts when Shiro suggested they grab some takeout and have an early night.

“Not tired, huh?”

“No,” Keith says more firmly. He shifts closer, reaching out a hand to glide his palm over Shiro’s bare thigh.

Shiro’s body reacts instantly.

“Oh,” he murmurs as Keith’s hand wanders. It skims over his briefs then sneaks up his flank only to drag slowly down. It’s a touch that makes Shiro want to arch and sigh. He loves Keith’s hands. Strong and capable and always with just the right amount of pressure to get his body sitting up and paying attention.

Which is pretty much what it’s starting to do now.

“Don’t start anything you can’t finish,” Shiro tells him.

He catches a flash of Keith’s teeth in the dim light. “When have I ever?”

Shiro can concede that point. He allows his eyes to fall closed, blocking out Keith’s stark appraisal of his body. Shiro is not normally shy, but something about Keith’s gaze tonight is more piercing than most. There’s an assurance there that wasn’t present a few days ago. It’s Keith ready and willing to take what he wants.

Shiro jolts when Keith’s hand ducks into his pants and curls around him. It’s warm and already a little wet, offering no resistance when Keith tightens his grasp. Shiro’s eyelids flutter closed and his breath stutters as he claws his fingers into the sheets in anticipation.

“Keith,” he whispers.

“Takashi,” Keith murmurs back. His voice sounds like it’s coming from a long way away but there’s no mistaking the reverence in his tone. Shiro recognizes it, and relishes what’s about to come next.

Keith’s hand pumps him, once, twice and a weight settles across his thighs. He wants to open his eyes but his lids feel too heavy. Keith has a special way of making him wild and languid at the same time. They’re starting to get good at going slow, at drawing things out, although when the alarm on Keith’s phone chimes he groans inwardly and hopes Keith’s not about to be called into work.

He cracks an eye open. “Are you on call?”

Keith growls somewhere at the back of his throat and uses his free hand to fumble for his phone. He snatches it up, taps the screen then promptly throws it on the floor. It lands with a thud and Shiro can’t help the pleased smile. “Guess that’s a no then.”

There’s a small huff. “Not on call. Don’t want to talk to anyone but you. Don’t want to be with anyone but you.”

“Lucky me,” Shiro answers quietly then a small gasp escapes when Keith lowers his head and it’s all Shiro can do not to moan out loud at the warm press of Keith’s mouth against his skin. Keith peppers his body with his mouth, slowly working his way down until that beautiful mouth closes around him where he’s hot and hard. Shiro releases a happy exhale at the contact but it quickly turns into a soft groan. The play of Keith’s tongue against Shiro’s slit and the way Keith hungrily gulps him down makes Shiro close his eyes and float on the sensations. Keith refuses to be shy in the darkness, each time he bobs, he takes Shiro deeper. After a few deep slides, Keith spares a moment to force one of Shiro’s hands into his hair. Shiro happily tangles his fingers in Keith’s smooth locks but what he really wants is to be able to see the shape of Keith’s mouth around him.

“Keith,” he grunts. He tugs on Keith’s hair, making his husband pause in his ministrations. “I want to be able to see you.”

Keith hums but doesn’t move away. He does manage some kind of stilted nod though and it’s all the encouragement Shiro needs.

“Lights on,” he commands and the pendant lights that hang on either side of their bed glow to life.

“God,” Shiro groans again at the sight before him, almost turning into a whimper as the sensations flicker over him when Keith dives back into his motion. The wet warmth, the suction and when he opens his eyes briefly, he catches a glimpse of Keith watching him with dark, hungry eyes and he almost loses it right then.  “Baby, it’s… it’s, oh, god… So good. So good. Too good, I’m-“

Keith’s answer is to pull off on a pop and then scrambles away, leaving Shiro blinking in a daze and protesting weakly at his loss.

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” Keith tells him breathlessly, clambering to his feet and pulling Shiro up after him. He presses a messy kiss to Shiro’s lips and it takes Shiro’s brain far too long to catch up when Keith yanks off his boxer shorts then sprawls on his back. He dangles his head over the edge of the bed and Shiro trembles with the effort to hold himself steady.

Shiro’s eyes get wide when Keith beckons him close, wriggling into position and arching the length of his throat. Shiro watches as Keith reaches one hand down to palm himself, sweeping over and tugging in rhythmic movements that has Shiro utterly mesmerized.

God, he’s so beautiful like this. Shiro finds himself rooted to the spot.

“Shiro,” Keith says sharply, his voice creeping towards a needy whine. His hair hangs towards the floor, exposing the full expanse of his forehead. There’s no hiding the burning need in his eyes. A need for Shiro. Keith stretches out his free hand and his expression changes into something sweet and coaxing. “Come on,” he whispers.

There is a barely noticeable flicker of unease that curls inside Shiro’s chest but it’s quickly burned away by the flame of the knowledge of what Keith wants to give him. He would have to be careful, he’s not small and as much as Keith assures him he can take it, there’s still the small voice at the back of Shiro’s mind that cautions him. _Gods,_ he thinks, taking a dazed step towards the bed. Keith’s eyes flash black and he angles his head, opening his mouth and when Shiro gets close enough, one of Keith’s hands latches onto the back of his thigh and yanks him closer.

“Baby,” Shiro groans, part in longing, part in warning. He’s not sure if he trusts himself not to lose control. He’s already so close at just the thought, at just the incredible visual of Keith splayed naked on the bed like that, his face tilted back even as his hand glistens with precum all over his fingers. He’s still stroking himself in anticipation and Shiro wants to reach out to cover that hand with his own.

“Keith, I’m not sure-“

“Please,” Keith whispers and it’s that soft little plea, so at odds with the heat in his eyes that proves to be Shiro’s undoing.

He stands over him, one hand braced against the bed to steady himself as he slides his length into his husband’s eager mouth. His legs aren’t shaking yet, not focused the way he is to keep his movements slow and gentle. He trains his gaze onto Keith’s face, watching closely to see if there’s discomfort but it’s a struggle to hold himself in check enough. He trembles, gasps out Keith’s name and almost wants to collapse at the burn inside his body at the feel and sights before him.

“Keith, fuck… fuck, baby, I love you so much, _ahh_ -“

Every nerve wants him to squeeze his eyes closed and rock into the soft, wet heat, to rut into it until the tightness at the base of his spine explodes but he forces himself to keep them open. He savours the vision, the slide of himself disappearing into Keith’s mouth, the line of his Keith’s throat as it bulges with Shiro’s girth. Every one of Keith’s incredibly lewd yet content little hums and moans around him.

He hadn’t even realised Keith could sound like that.

Shiro groans low in his chest and draws back and out. He can feel sweat starting to slick between his shoulder blades from the strain of holding himself in check. His eyes fall closed in a slow blink and when he opens them once again, Keith is licking his lips.

“More,” Keith says hoarsely.

Shiro holds himself back with effort. His arm trembles and his shoulder aches from where he’s putting his weight to hold himself up but he ignores the discomfort, focused only on the throbbing of his body and the heat in his spine. Keith tilts his head back, impatient when Shiro doesn’t re-enter him straight away and seeking him out with his lips and tongue.

“Jesus Christ,” Shiro spits out. “I don’t know if I can hold this.”

“I want it,” Keith tells him. The grip against Shiro’s thigh tightens almost painfully. “I can take it. All of it.”

Shiro groans again, the lose thread of self-control now discarded and he slides back in, giving Keith what he wants and letting the sensations wash over him. The sounds Keith makes are obscene and a small voice in the back of his mind notes that this isn’t Keith’s usual style yet he’s offering it up anyway. Mingled with the heat and the lust is a wave of affection that Keith would do this for him. Keith would do anything for him, he knows this, but he knows he would also do anything for Keith. He draws out of Keith’s mouth, then back in, leaning over his husband until he manages to find a way to leverage himself enough that he can knock Keith’s hand away and take him in his own.

Keith groans around him in appreciation when Shiro starts to stroke him and that’s what finally breaks him. He pulls out as the orgasm washes over him, his senses blown white and pleasure sparking along his entire body. He lets out a shout, dribbling his mess over Keith’s chin until he stumbles a sidestep and collapses heavily against the bed. He doesn’t have time to catch his breath before Keith rears up and straddles him once again, his own hand working furiously as he kisses sharp marks into Shiro’s shoulder. Keith grunts then wet heat splashes against Shiro’s chest and he pulls a strength from he doesn’t know where to gather his husband close to him.

The room smells sharp and they’re sticky and sweaty and Shiro is still fighting to calm the roaring of his blood but his heart is full.

He nudges Keith’s cheek and seeks out his mouth, kissing him softly. He can taste himself on Keith’s lips. “I don’t know how it is you keep surprising me, but somehow you always do.”

Keith gives him a small smile but the shimmer of vulnerability behind his eyes makes Shiro sit up, propping his head in his palm.

Keith chews on his lip. “So that was… alright?”

Shiro can’t help the pleasantly exhausted chuckle. “More than alright. God, Keith. I love you so much.”

Indigo eyes drift closed. “I love you too.”

Shiro drags a hand along the smooth line of his husband’s flank and he presses a kiss to his husband’s shoulder. “You’re okay, though aren’t you? I didn’t-“

Keith rushes to assure him. “No. I’m fine.”

Silence settles over them but the air feels strangely heavy. Keith is quiet, not the sleepy kind of fatigue lining his limbs that Shiro is used to after they come together so passionately.

No, this is something different.

An uncomfortable thought worms it’s way up from his gut and the echo of their earlier conversation replays in his mind.

_Consider it a peace offering._

The cold crawls down his spine before he gathers himself and shoves it away.

“Keith,” he says quietly, running his hands over Keith’s hips and pulling him closer. Keith turns slightly, and Shiro curls over him, pressing the breadth of his chest against Keith’s warm back. He needs Keith to feel anchored, or maybe he just needs to be sure Keith isn’t about to slip away.

It’s a few beats before Keith answers. “Yeah?”

“Did… Did you do that because you’re still blaming yourself?”

Keith tenses underneath him. “Blaming myself for what?”

Shiro recognizes the stall when he hears it. He hates the way an ache blooms in his chest and his gut drops. He isn’t sure he knows how to navigate this. He doesn’t know how to broach this without one of them getting hurt but he knows his husband well enough to realise that how they made love was more than just an act of pleasure between them. Somehow it was representative and how Keith gave himself over or held himself back seemed to reflect his state of mind.

Shiro swallows thickly before he speaks again. Without thinking, his grip on Keith tightens. “Was that some kind of… peace offering?”

Keith pulls away but only long enough to roll over onto his back. He looks up at Shiro with clear eyes and Shiro finds himself releasing an exhale that at least he has that.

“Maybe.”

“Sweetheart,” Shiro sighs, trying hard to stem his impatience. “You don’t need-“

Keith moves fast. He slings his arm around Shiro’s neck and pulls him down.

The press of his lips stops Shiro from whatever he was about to say.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm still having too much fun with this AU

The LifeFlight helicopter gets taken offline for a few hours for maintenance while the team’s engineers check it over. For every hour they have the machine in the air, it takes almost six full hours of maintenance. Keith doesn’t begrudge the downtime, but it feels strange to be idle when they’re so used to being so busy.

He takes advantage of the quiet and the midday sunshine to drag out the hose and the soap suds to scrub down the silent helicopter while the engineers run their remote diagnostics. Before long, Lance joins him and they work together around the aircraft until Lance snatches up the hose and soundly douses Keith with cold water. Keith growls and shakes his wet hair out like a furious puppy to the soundtrack of Lance’s cackling laughter.

Keith manages to get his revenge a short time later though, yanking on the back of Lance’s uniform and shoving half a bucket of disgustingly dirty soap suds down his back.

“Damn it, mullet!” Lance yelps.

“Hey, you started it.”

Keith laughs when Lance flips him off then disappears back inside the hangar to change. Alone again, Keith continues with his work washing down the helicopter. He enjoys the sunshine, the warmth on the back of his neck and the distant hum of the aircraft spooling up in the nearby hangars.

He’s just packing up and trudging back towards the hangar when a big fluffy shape appears out of nowhere and flattens him to the ground. The buckets and cleaning gear clatters to the tarmac as he lands on his back with a painful grunt.

He stares up into a pair of bright, gold eyes and some very sharp teeth.

“Whoa, where did you come from?”

The fluffy shape turns out to be one of the biggest dogs he’s ever seen. It hovers over him, the dog’s two giant front paws placed squarely on Keith’s chest as a large pink tongue lolls out the side of his mouth. A slimy sliver of drool hangs down and Keith watches with a cringing fascination as it drips slowly down and pools against his uniform.

“Kosmo? Kosmo! Kosmo, bad dog!”

The yell sounds panicked and it’s accompanied by a clap of boots and a man sporting a familiar bushy moustache leans over him. “Oh, Keith, I’m so sorry, are you alright? Of course you are, never fear, this dog is very friendly.”

“Uh, okay,” Keith turns his face away as another sliver of drool from the dog’s mouth this time tries to graze his face. Along with the drool, he quickly discovers the dog’s breath isn’t particularly pleasant either. “A little help, Coran?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Allow me. Kosmo, heel!”

The dog doesn’t move.

“Kosmo, _heel.”_

The dog still doesn’t budge and Coran huffs irritably. “Alright then, you furry monstrosity. Have at it then.”

Coran gives the dog a shove, grunting dramatically as he does so. Keith gulps in a lungful of air in sweet relief as the dog hops off. He pulls himself up into a sitting position, once again coming eye to eye with the dog as it rests on its haunches and eyes him expectantly. Keith tries to wipe the drool off his shirt, only to find it’s soaked through and where his uniform was once a dark blue, an almost black patch of dampness lies there instead.

Ew.

“He’s kind of drooly,” Keith comments and the dog huffs and lowers his head endearingly. In spite of the drool, Keith finds himself reaching out to stroke his palm over the dog’s dark, glossy coat. The dog whines leans into him happily.

The weight is enough to almost knock him over again.

“Aw, Kosmo likes you!” Coran says cheerfully. “We’re trialling a new initiative. Did you know that spending time with animals can help reduce signs of stress and be calming for people working on the front line?”

Keith doesn’t get a chance to answer when Kosmo shuffles forward and presses his against Keith’s chest. He makes a happy kind of chuffing sound that Keith can’t resist. He looks into the dog’s golden eyes.

“Really?” he murmurs. He can easily believe it. Kosmo headbutts him again, with force enough that Keith has to rock back. It makes him laugh when the dog all but clambers into his lap.

“Well, we’ve got to look after our guys that look after everyone else too.” Coran twirls his ginger moustache happily.

Keith runs his hands over the dog’s soft fur. His coat is thick, probably bordering on too thick for the sub-tropical climate they find themselves in. In the sunshine, the deep lines of darker fur are easier to spot against his coat. His eyes, a rich gold, are large and wise.

“He’s beautiful,” Keith says wistfully.

“He’s part husky, and part something else I can’t name. Not local though, from a long way away.”

“Is he looking for a home?”

Coran glances at him shrewdly, still stroking his moustache. “He might be. Are you interested?”

Keith thinks about his life with Shiro, the townhouse, the tiny courtyard… Black. It’s a nice thought but they’re not ready for that.

They’re hardly ever home anyway.

“No,” he sighs.

“Ah well, maybe one day,” Coran says warmly. “You never know what’s around the corner!”

 

* * *

 

Lance stomps into the locker room with his shirt dripping and rummages though his unit for his spare uniform, all the while trying not to curse Keith too soundly. It felt a little unfair that he had to be the one to change, after all he’d only doused Keith in clean water, not disgusting, dirty soap suds. Typical Keith. Hit him with a paintball and he returns the favour with a rocket launcher.

Okay, maybe not quite.

He’s pulling out his clothes when Allura appears at his side. She touches his shoulder. “Lance? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just gotta clean up.”

“Did you fall in a mud puddle?”

Lance huffs. “No, just Mullet taking things too far.” He growls, _“as usual.”_

Allura’s finely formed brows bunch slightly in confusion. Guess she didn’t see the dirty trail of footprints leading through the base. “I’m sorry?”

Lance shakes his head and leans over carefully to kiss her cheek. “Never mind, princess. Let me get changed and I’ll come help you with the stocks.”

Allura’s gaze shifts to the doorway to the locker room, then to the communal bathrooms off to one side. She smiles softly. Lance knows that smile and he’s instantly on high alert. “Need any help?” she all but purrs.

Lance blinks, then grins widely. “Allie, are you suggesting a quickie in the workplace?”

She leans in towards him as though to kiss him then abruptly pauses then wrinkling her nose. “Oh, no, you stink,” she tells him, backing away. He catches a devilish glint in her eye as he deflates.

“Aw, come on Allie,” he whines.

She tosses her long platinum curls over her shoulder. “I’ll wait for you in the hangar.”

He grumbles to himself as he trudges into the bathroom alone and quickly washes off the grime that had started to cake his skin. A quick comb of his hair and then he’s pulling on a fresh uniform and dumping his other one into the laundry room. Their base wasn’t large but it had all the amenities they needed for a home away from home. Handy for those long days when their shifts ran back to back.

It’s not long before he’s back in the hangar, going through the stores and checking over their supplies with Allura when a voice that shouldn’t be there floats out towards him.

He tosses the datapad onto a shelf and sticks his head out of the storeroom.

“Hunk?”

“Oh, hey Lance.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, uh. I thought I’d just stop by and lend my expertise. That gala made me realise how much you guys run on fumes… Well, not literal fumes I hope, that would be bad, but you know, I figured I could lend my skills for a while.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be with Shiro?”

“Well, technically there’s not much I can do yet. Shiro’s still tied to the garrison for a bit longer and we’ve picked out a lab but Shiro doesn’t want us rushing into anything just yet so I don’t have that much to do just yet – while the lab is being built… so I thought I’d stop by. Do… Do I need an excuse to be here?”

“No, of course not. Actually, we’re always short of an engineer, so… yeah. It’s good to see you.”

Hunk nods. He holds up a basket covered with a white and red checkered cloth. “Oh, and I bought these.”

No sooner as he plucked the cloth away, the rest of the team swarms on him. There’s excited chatter as Hunk hands out huge, delicious muffins and cookies that are still warm from the oven. Lance finds himself close to wrestling Rolo to the ground for the first muffin then sighing in sheer delight as the flavours and buttery taste burst over his tongue.

“Tfis is heaven,” he mutters around the muffin. He chews happily, eyes closed and doesn’t even mind when Nyma smacks his butt to shove him out of the way so she can get closer to the basket. “Hey, that’s workplace abuse,” he gripes at her but she only blows him a kiss then sweeps up a handful of cookies before sashaying off back into the rec room.

“Who was that?” Hunk stares after her. “She looks familiar.”

“A pain in my ass. Literally,” Lance tells him. He can’t help the way his eyes narrow as he takes in the way Hunk is staring after her. “Oh, no way man. Aren’t you with the gremlin, anyway?”

“Huh? What? Oh, hey, don’t call Pidge a gremlin. She’ll kick your ass and mine.”

Lance takes another bite of his muffin. “I don’t doubt it, man. She’s scary.”

“She’s awesome.”

“Pidge is delightful,” Allura chimes in then, slipping a warm arm around Lance’s waist as she leans around him to reach into the basket Hunk holds up. “These look delicious, Hunk. Thank you for visiting us.”

“What is this? The gremlin fanclub?” Lance sulkily shoves more muffin into his mouth.

 

* * *

 

Keith finds everyone inside the hangar, huddled around a tall man with dark hair. It takes him a second to realise it’s Hunk but not before Lance spots him and calls out.

“Hey Keith, check it out, Hunk brought us goodies! Who’s the dog?”

“Kosmo,” Keith says absently, trying to peer around the cluster of his colleagues swarming Hunk for his treats. The dog whines at his name and presses against Keith’s thigh and Keith pats him without bothering to looking down.

He gets a soppy lick against his hand for his trouble.

“Cosmic,” Rolo leans down to ruffle the dog’s fur.

“Kosmo,” Keith corrects. He points at the collar around the dog’s neck. “Says so right on the tag.”

“Nah, man. I mean this dog. He’s cosmic. Look at his eyes. He’s been around.”

Lance pulls a face and rolls his eyes behind Rolo’s shoulder but Keith ignores him. As tempted as he is by Hunk’s incredible baking, he only has one thought on his mind. Where Hunk has been lately, his husband hasn’t been too far behind.

“Is Shiro with you guys?”

“Yep,” Lance informs him with a spray of cookie crumbs. “In with Trigel. She’s probably trying to recruit him.”

Keith leaves them to their feast and hurries through the narrow halls to Trigel’s office. His boots thump against the stairs. He finds Shiro and Trigel leaning against her desk sharing a laugh and she smiles as he walks in.

“Keith,” she says brightly, clearly pleased to see him. She’s grinning from ear to ear, perched on the edge of her desk with her arms folded loosely across her chest. Beside her, Shiro looks relaxed despite his garrison greys. His eyes sparkle and Keith gets the distinct impression he’s just walked in on a private joke between them.

It feels a little strange.

“Hi, baby,” Shiro greets him and Keith can’t help the burn of his cheeks at the warm, soft way Shiro says those words. It feels so intimate, like a caress, and Keith isn’t sure if he’s pleased or embarrassed that Shiro is carefree enough to speak to him like that in front of his boss.  

His gaze flickers to Trigel but it’s hard to read the expression on her face.

“Hi,” he says quietly, stepping fully into the room and taking the few steps to Shiro’s side.

“I was just telling Shiro we could always do with another pilot on our books,” Trigel pats Shiro’s shoulder gently. “But he claims he doesn’t want to tread on any toes. He wouldn’t be though, would he, Keith?”

“No,” Keith shakes his head, a half smile forming. “Not at all.”

They’d tossed the idea around a while back, one late night in bed. Shiro had mostly been teasing but it’s an idea that burrowed close in and stayed with Keith. Shiro has always wanted to make a difference, he’s always wanted to fly too. LifeFlight could offer him both those things, just like it did for Keith.

Shiro’s gaze shifts and so does the subject. “So, who’s your friend?”

Keith glances around, surprised that the dog had followed him. Kosmo sits in the doorway, tongue lolling and sharp eyes watching him. Keith had expected his furry companion to want to stay were the food was, but apparently Keith was more interesting.

“He’s Coran’s. His name is Kosmo. Something about a therapy dog,” Keith shrugs by way of explanation.

Shiro eyes the dog, he seems pleased about it, although Keith isn’t exactly sure why. “That’s great, Keith. Really good.”

Keith gives him a strange look before he gestures at Shiro’s garrison greys. “Don’t you have classes today?”

Shiro looks amused by that. He swaps a smirking glance with Trigel. “What’s the garrison going to do? Fire me?”

Trigel chuckles at that then pushes off the desk. She pats Shiro gently on the shoulder again as she leaves, passing Keith to head out the door. “Well, I’m off to find out what that delicious smell is. Come on, Kosmo. Let’s leave the lovebirds to it.”

Trigel clicks the door shut behind her and without bothering to wait a moment longer, Keith steps into Shiro’s space and curls his arms around his husband’s neck. Shiro’s arms snake possessively around his waist and his head dips just as Keith leans up to soundly kiss him.

Patting the dog had been nice, but kissing his husband was better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last moment of peace before the shizzle hits the fizzle


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to get rough now. TW for violence in following chapter.

Once their aircraft is back online, the team is dispatched south of the city where the valleys sleep at the base of the mountains. It takes them only twenty minutes by air, but would take far longer by road.

The view below them is dense with trees but there’s a clear area behind the sheds on the rural property that gives Keith the space he needs to set down the helicopter. Lance and Allura pull open the cabin door and climb down over the skid, hauling their kits out before the rotors have even stopped spinning.

Keith isn’t far behind them. He launches into a quick jog to catch up to his team and takes one of the heavier kits from Allura then slings it over his shoulder.

“Okay, so where is everyone?” Lance says. “I thought there was someone who was supposed to be meeting us?”

Keith shrugs. They had seen the emergency vehicles and a few uniformed figures near the main house from the air so he knew they had to be in the right place. “Not sure, seems strange no one has come out though.”

“They must all be down at the house.”

The three of them trudge down the small slope towards the sheds. At the far end of the paddock, a few cows watch them lazily.

“Well, this is gross,” Keith mutters, taking care to avoid the small mounds of manure scattered in the dry grass. The smell makes him wrinkle his nose in distaste.

Lance pauses to grab Allura’s arm. “Whoa, watch your step there, princess.”

“Oh. Oh, my. That’s… unpleasant.”

“Just a bit of cow manure,” Lance tells her. “I hear it’s great for plants.”

Allura takes a deliberate step around the pile in front of her and continues to head towards the farmhouse. “I’m sure it is.”

Lance grins and hurries after her. “Hey Ally, I’ve got one for you - what do you get if you look up at a cow? A pat on the hea- oh, shit.”

Keith snickers. “Oh shit, all right.”

“I think I stepped in some.”

“No cow poop in the helicopter, or you’re walking back to base,” Keith growls and Lance responds by shoving his pack at Keith’s chest so he can take a moment to wipe his boots against the grass.

There’s a barbed wire fence just before they reach the sheds, blocking the view of the property’s main house. Keith and Lance wrestle with the fence, pulling the wire open enough that Allura can throw their packs through and duck under before Lance goes then Keith follows. One of the sharp barbs nicks his uniform and he stops unhook himself, grumbling under his breath at the small tear.

“Still don’t see anyone,” Lance comments when Keith finally catches up. Keith stares at the back of the sheds, blocking the view of the house where he assumes their patient will be. They’ll have to skirt around them to get to it.

“Come on, this way.”

Keith finds a path that leads to the house and is rocked by a wave of déjà vu when the pale weatherboard walls of the cottage looms up ahead of them.

Lance gives him an odd sideways look that makes Keith wonder if he’s not the only who felt it. Lance leans in, lowering his voice so it’s barely a mutter through the side of his mouth.

“Keith, isn’t this-”

He doesn’t need Lance to clarify. The night Ezor had called, begging for help and they’d ended up in a place very much like this one.

Disquiet settles licks around his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He wishes now he paid more attention to the route Shiro had taken when they’d driven that night.

“I don’t know, it looks different from the air.”

“And in the daylight,” Lance adds. He shifts the pack against his shoulders as they approach the building. At least three standard police cruisers clutter the long gravel driveway, as well as an off-road unit that’s only barely visible through the trees.

And still not a single soul in sight.

“This doesn’t seem right,” Allura murmurs. She tugs out a datapad from her uniform pocket and scans the screen. “Surely there should be more personnel about? Where is the ground unit?”

Keith casts a troubled glance at the stairs leading into the house. They’re approaching from the rear of the home, just a small porch at the top of the wooden stairs. They can see the door is open but the interior is cast in deep shadow.

He exchanges a wary look with Lance.

“What the hell is going on?” Lance mutters, more to himself. Allura looks up from her data pad, concern clearly shining in her blue eyes. Keith meets her gaze with a half shrug and the corner of her mouth turns down.

“We’re here to do a job so we do it. But keep your wits about you,” Keith adds quietly. “Just in case.”

He doesn’t wait for a response and jogs up the three steps to porch and raps loudly on the open door. He can’t see anything down the dark hallway but he thinks he might hear the scuff of movement further into the house.

Lance and Allura trail up the creaking stairs after him.

“Medics,” he calls out loudly, rapping his knuckles on the wood.

Ezor had called it a safe house, but maybe it wasn’t just theirs, maybe it was a safehouse that served others, undercover cops maybe, special operatives. Then again, maybe it’s just another cottage in the rural areas surrounding the city. It’s in the same area, but the chance of it being the same one was too uncomfortable to think about.

Keith pushes the unease away and reminds himself they have a job to do. “Hello? We’re here for patient transport. Is there anyone here?”

There’s a thud from inside one of the rooms then a dark shape emerges from the end of the hall. Heavy footsteps stomp towards them. Keith shoves down the urge to step backwards, his heart racing before he tells himself to stop being stupid and do his damn job. The figure comes closer and steps into the light. The crest adorning the dark blue uniform denoting the police force causes Keith’s breath to escape in an exhale he hadn’t realised he was holding.

“Good,” the officer says. He’s a tall man, clean shaven with sharply pointed nose and thin lips. A tactical vest covers his chest and on his hips, the unmistakable yellow of a taser gun on one side and the standard firearm on the other. He looks like any other police officer they would encounter on a job. “You’re here.”

Lance’s eyebrows go up. “You didn’t hear the chopper?”

The officer doesn’t bother to answer beyond a rough grunt. He turns on his heel and disappears back into the darkened interior of the house.

Keith exchanges a short glance with his teammates. A part of him buzzes that something wasn’t right here but what were their options? High tail it back to the helicopter and back into the air? How was he supposed to explain that to their superiors? To Trigel? Spooked for no discernible reason at all- and what about the patient they’d been dispatched to collect? There are no signs of a struggle that they can see, the police officer appeared calm and no doubt the rest of them are inside the house. There was nothing untoward going on here.

He hoists his bag onto his shoulder. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

It takes a moment for Keith’s eyes to adjust to the gloom inside the house. They walk down the hallway, past what seems to be a bathroom and possibly a bedroom. Other doors are closed tight and what windows he can see are boarded up tight only serving to add to the interior darkness. Lance and Allura follow him silently, only the low rustle of their uniforms to tell him they’re behind.

The officer halts at the end of the hall, his back to them. Keith can’t be sure, but it looks as though he might be communicating with someone. He turns around and strides back towards them.

Keith watches him approach. “Why is it so dark in here?”

“Yeah,” Lance mutters from behind him. “Can we turn on a light? Open a curtain, something?”

The officer stops in front of Keith. “No.”

There’s the click of a light switch being flicked but Keith doesn’t turn around.

“Is there no power?” Allura asks.

They’d seen the solar panels on the roof, there should be some power in the batteries even if the mains weren’t connected.

“No power,” the officer informs them curtly. There’s no warmth in his tone and Keith is starting to wonder if they’re just wasting time. A flare of irritation makes his voice sharper than it needs to be.

“Where is our patient? We were told we had to transport them to Altea Private-”

He trails off in uneasy surprise when a thick fingered hand suddenly curls heavily around his bicep. “What are you doing?”

The officer’s voice turns rough in his ear. “You're here for something else.”

“Here for… what the fuck?”

“Hey man,” Lance protests then. “What’s going o-“

Lance’s sentence trails off into a pained grunt and Keith tries to shake off the grip on him, only for it to tighten. There’s no room to manoeuvre in the narrow hallway but he tries to twist out of the officer’s grasp anyway.

“Let me go,” Keith snaps, turning in time to see a second police officer has appeared at their backs. He collects a handful of Lance’s uniform, bunching it at his throat and shoving him hard at the wall. The officer is brute strength, filling the space with broad shoulders and an ugly, leering countenance.

“What are we going to do with this one?” he sneers. In his grip, Lance’s eyes are wide and shocked.

“Let him go!”

Allura dumps the med kits on the ground and goes for the man holding Lance in a flurry of nails against his face. Red streaks bloom and he recoils with a hiss. He backhands her savagely, sending her stumbling backwards.

“Hey!” Keith shoves at the grip at his wrist, at the officer holding him, only to have his other wrist also pinned. He tries to kick out with his legs, only to be slammed against the wall himself. The back of his head connects with a loud crack and pain shoots through his skull. His knees buckle.

He blinks weakly, cracking his eyes open long enough to see Lance slumped on the ground, unconscious and with blood staining his chin. Allura fights harder, struggling and lashing out until the officer holding her snarls and shoves her away. She stumbles back and drops down beside Lance, a shaky hand on his still cheek.

Keith tries to speak but he’s hauled to his feet before he can remember how to form words. The grip on him is painfully tight, one around his bicep, the other shoved into his hair and yanking on his scalp. Fuck, the pull makes his eyes water and a tiny part of his mind tells him he should have listened to Lance and hacked the whole length off but no sooner has the thought formed, he’s stumbling over his feet and dragged down the rest of the hallway and deeper into the house.

It only takes a brief glance to know the place has been ransacked.

“Here they are,” the officer holding him announces cheerily, dumping Keith on the floor. He tries to catch himself before his face connects with the floorboards but a boot lands viciously into his side, making him gasp in pain so bright he momentarily blacks out.

When he forces his eyes open again, he sees the second officer drag in Lance and Allura too.

“Lance,” he croaks, struggling to see beyond stinging tears in his eyes. “Allura-“

Allura doesn’t look up, curling protectively over Lance where he’s out cold beside her. Her platinum tresses have been ripped from her braid, framing her face in messy, wild curls. Her bottom lip looks swollen and she presses her fingers to Lance’s throat gently.

Keith knows what she’s trying to do.

“You fight better than he does,” the second officer leers at her. He leans down, his teeth sharp as he forces his face into her space. Allura stiffens but doesn’t draw back. Her hand flexes. Her nails are the only weapons she has and Keith can see the way she stares defiantly on the three red lines on the officer’s face that she wants to use them again.

“I can make the other side match,” she spits at him, and he snarls, moving to lunge at her before the first officer stops him.

“Prorok! Enough!”

Prorok swivels his head, baleful eyes rimmed in red beyond even the scratches on his face.

“She’s not the one we want.”

Prorok backs off, but not before he sneers out one last curse in Allura’s face. He straightens, then walks back to the first officer’s side, standing over Keith and staring down at him.

Keith braces himself for another kick, still trying to catch his breath. He’s almost surprised when the boot in his side doesn’t come.

It’s a struggle to make his thoughts come together. There’s a cacophony in his brain, klaxons screaming and lightning bolts of pain that curl around the shock of being caught so abruptly by surprise. They were trained to assess for danger, to be careful about the situations they walked into, but they were never trained to expect an assault from the people who would be working alongside them.

Protocol tells him they should call for back up but Keith stares hard the badges on the uniforms of the two men standing over him, the silver shield to symbolise protection. His stomach plummets. Who would they even raise the alarm with?

And what did they want from them anyway?

Keith coughs, tasting copper on his tongue before he braces his palms on the floorboards. The vanish on them is scratched and thin. An entire lifetime has been lived in this house.

He heaves, and pushes himself upright, sagging back against the wall. His stomach rolls with the lancing pain that throbs in his head and he wills the contents of his stomach to stay where they are.

“There’s no patient is there?”

There’s the creak of leather as one of the officers – Prorok, probably – shifts his stance. Then he laughs, an ugly sound that tickles something at the edge of Keith’s memory.

Prorok. Fuck, he’s met this guy before.

“It’s taken you this long to work that one out? Well, she never did say you were smart.”

Keith runs his tongue over his split lips. Once of his teeth feels chipped. “Who?”

There’s no answer save for more ugly laughter. Keith shifts his gaze to the other side of the room. Allura has tugged Lance’s head into her lap, cradling it gently and threading her fingers through his short hair. There’s a sparkle against her cheek that makes Keith’s heart seize in his chest.

 _He’s knocked out, not dead,_ Keith tells himself with force. _He’ll be okay._ A tiny rush of relief floods him when Lance’s chest rises and falls with a rough breath and his hand twitches at his side.

He shifts his attention back to the officers, focusing on the laces of their black boots because trying to lift his head makes the pain bloom behind his eyes. Once again, the silver shield of the police emblem catches his eye.

These weren’t real police officers. They couldn’t be.

Keith tries for a different tactic.

“We’re supposed to be on the same side, you know.”

“Get a load of this guy,” Prorok sneers. It’s full of menace and makes Keith’s blood run cold. “On the same side.”

The first officer’s expression twists. He crouches down and leans in, so close into Keith’s face that Keith can see the faint yellowing of his sclera. “We can be, if you tell us what we want to know.”

Keith does his best to keep his expression bland even as his heart thuds sharply against his rib cage. “Like what?”

Prorok’s smile grows. “Where is she, Kogane?”

For a few beats, there’s only static in his mind. Loud, buzzing static that sounds like a burst of insects and it freezes his thoughts until a cold realization worms it’s way through. A bell clangs somewhere, heralding the approach of a reckoning he’d long been desperate to avoid.

It’s too much of a coincidence. He’d known it wasn’t over. He’d known the skeletons would rattle eventually.

He swallows around the lump in his throat. He’s sure he tastes blood.

“Who?”

“I think you know who we’re talking about,” the officer says with a deceptive mildness. Keith hasn’t learned his name yet but the badge on his tactical vest says _Haxus_.

Keith tries to shake his head but it makes black crowd at the edges of his vision. All he can do is try to keep their attention focused on him then at least they’ll leave Lance and Allura alone.

They’re not who these men want anyway.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You dumb shit!” Prorok suddenly roars, and Keith curses himself for flinching. He doesn’t see it coming, the back hand across the face that snaps his head around and sends him sprawling back onto the floorboards. He tastes more blood and a very real spark of fear crawls up his spine followed by the hot fire of anger.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Haxus stares at him, his expression barely changing. Now that Keith can focus on him, there’s a coldness to his gaze, a coldness to his expression. He’d heard once that eyes were the window to the soul but this man was dead inside.

Keith has to repress a shiver.

“Where is she?”

“Who?” he gasps again then winces when Prorok snatches a handful of his hair and hauls his head up. His eyes water betrayingly at the sharp pain against his skull.

“Your bitch of a sister,” Prorok snarls. “She has something that belongs to us. And we want it back.”

Prorok leans in again. Warm breath puffs over Keith’s face, stale coffee and old cigarettes. It makes his stomach churn.

“I don’t know,” Keith wheezes. “I haven’t seen her in weeks.”

It’s the truth. Keith has tried not to think about her. Out of sight, out of mind, isn’t that how it goes?

Prorok releases him with a final shove of Keith’s head against the wall then climbs to his feet. Keith squints up. He didn’t think that Haxus’s eyes could get any colder yet they do.

This time he can’t stop the shiver.

“Then you’re not much use to us, are you?” Haxus murmurs. He walks away, just as Prorok trails after him.

“Light the fucking match, let them burn,” Prorok says. It takes Keith far too long to realise they’re talking about them. About burning the cottage down around them.

Allura’s eyes are wide when they meet his across the room. He can’t hold it and his gaze falls to the pale skin of his hands laying uselessly in his lap. Pale skin and a dark band and all the promises it symbolized.

The realisation flows over him. He might die today. _They_ might die today and for a few heavy beats of his heart, sadness drowns out the pain.

He might die here today and break his promises and Shiro would be alone and they won’t live the life together they’d promised each other. Those soft dreams of their future they shared in quiet whispers under the stars with groping hands and gentle mouths.

The thought hurts more than anything they could inflict on him physically before the ache fades into something else. He thinks about Lance and Allura on the other side of the room, dragged into his mess not just because they were his colleagues but his friends too.

No.

He wasn’t going to let this happen. He won’t break his promises. He’ll find a way to get out of this, to get back to his husband and the life they’d promised together.

“Look, I already told you,” he peers up at them from under his hair. At the back of his mind, he’s rapidly trying to process his options, but his thoughts blur roughly under the pain. “I have no idea where she is.”

“You’re lying.”

“No,” Keith shakes his head and his hair flies. His temples spike and he has to squeeze his eyes shut against the sudden sharp stab of pain. “I’m not. We’re not exactly close,” he mutters, only to grunt and double over when another boot connects with his side.

“Fucker,” he wheezes from the floor.

“Perhaps we’re not providing the right incentive,” a new voice echoes in the room. It’s a deep voice, icily calm. The measured tone immediately tells Keith that this is someone he doesn’t want to fuck with, although that might also be the way the other men in the room instantly seem to show deference.

Keith’s suspicion is confirmed when Haxus speaks.

“Sir?”

Keith turns his face against the rug that lines the centre of the room. It’s old, dating back at least four decades and stale smelling. The floral pattern might be stains for all he knows and it’s rough against his bruised cheek. A pair of heavy boots cross the floorboards towards him. Black, shiny leather books under navy uniform pants. They’re huge boots belonging to a huge form. Keith’s eyes slowly travel upwards, dread pooling heavily in his chest at the familiar face.

Sendak.

Fuck. They’re fucked. They so fucking fucked and he was fairly sure they really were going to die today because Sendak was so high up the food chain that not even Trigel would be able to touch him. Not even her bosses would be able to launch an internal investigation without finding themselves dead in the river.

No, because Sendak was one of the highest-ranking officers in the city and there was no telling how deeply his rotten tendrils reached.

Maybe the entire police force was corrupted, who the hell knew? But now it’s clear that there’s no one they can trust.

There’s not going to be an easy way out of this.

Keith’s gaze flickers to Allura, but she’s not looking at him. She’s still hovering over Lance, a curtain of her pale hair shielding both their faces. A stinging lash of regret curls around Keith’s throat. They shouldn’t be a part of this, but before Keith can even finish the thought, he’s hauled roughly to his feet.

“Go outside, see to the gas bottles. Leave no evidence that can be traced to us.”

The two officers leave the room without a word and suddenly Keith is alone with a man that looked like he could snap Keith like a twig with his bare hands.

In fact, he just might with the way he stares at Keith.

Keith watches him warily, pressing his back against the wall. His body aches but he tries to pull together the last vestiges of his strength only to find he doesn’t need to when Sendak pins him back with a heavy paw at his throat.

“Everyone always talks eventually,” Sendak purrs almost conversationally. It’s a jarring contrast to tightness around his neck.

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” Keith grits out again. “I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to.”

“Oh, I think you do,” Sendak smiles but it’s evil and cold. One eye doesn’t move like the other one and the pupil doesn’t seem the right shade. It takes Keith a beat later to realise the eye is bionic. High tech. Maybe with some inbuilt kind of broadcasting system. Jesus, was someone watching this right now? Could he signal for help?

Sendak’s hand tightens and Keith curses himself for the thought.

“Everyone talks,” Sendak continues as though Keith hadn’t spoken. “You just need to find their weakness. The one thing they value above all others.”

Sendak pins him tighter against the wall, one heavy forearm against Keith’s throat. It feels hard and unyielding, a lot like Shiro’s bionic arm and it takes Keith a few moments to realise his arm is partially bionic too.

“I wonder,” Sendak drawls, his other hand snaking down over Keith’s shoulder, over his bicep and to his wrist in the sick parody of a lover’s touch. “What is it that’s _your_ greatest weakness?”

Keith tries to snarl and shake him off but he’s too weak. His other hand dangles at his side, pinned at the shoulder. He can’t get enough leverage to take a swing at all but all thoughts of struggle stop when Sendak curls thick fingers around Keith’s wrist and lifts up his hand. The officer’s dark eyes shift to Keith’s fingers. His fingers, where the black titanium band of his wedding ring sits.

Keith immediately goes still.

“Yes,” Sendak purrs. His eyes narrow to slits but his thick lips curve upwards in a sadistic smile. “Yes, I think I know what your weakness is.”

“Fuck off,” Keith manages to hiss, the fear crawling up his throat chokes him more than the arm against his neck. Shiro. All he can think about is Shiro.

And now Sendak knows about him.

He struggles again, weakly under Sendak’s mocking grasp when out of the corner of his eye he sees a shift of dark blue. He keeps his gaze firmly on Sendak’s face, refusing to acknowledge Lance climbing unsteadily, and silently, to his knees lest the movement of his eyes attracts Sendak’s attention. Keith curls a lip and snarls, another insult that he has no hope of following through on coating his lips.

“Hey, asshole.”

Sendak’s head snaps to the side, distracted by Lance’s taunt and Keith seizes his opportunity. He might not have the strength to take on Sendak, but he’s quick and when Lance scrapes the tip of a metal pole against the floorboard and Sendak’s grip on his wrist pulls away, Keith’s fingers twitch and race for the yellow taser that sits on Sendak’s utility belt. 

He pulls it out and jabs it into Sendak’s side, in the soft space where his tactical vest doesn’t reach and releases the trigger before Sendak can even catch a breath.

Sendak jolts as the electricity flows through him, one convoluted shudder that has him stepping back but not dropping completely. Keith leverages the wall behind him and draws together the last of his strength to kick Sendak across the room. The big man goes flying, slamming into the other wall with a loud crack.

He slides down, silent and still.

“Holy shit,” Lance gasps. The metal pole turns out to be part of a floor lamp and shakes in his hands. Allura scrambles to her feet behind him. Lance’s eyes are wide and stunned. “Holy shit, what the fuck, Keith? What the fuck is going on?”

“I have no idea,” Keith wheezes, grabbing a handful of Lance’s uniform and Allura’s wrist before dragging them out of the house. He can only hope that Prorok and Haxus are outside somewhere and didn’t hear the commotion. They need to get away from here. They need to get back to their helicopter but it waits in the centre of the paddock a few hundred meters away.

And between them and the helicopter, a row of sheds and the rest of Sendak’s men stand in the way.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this before I overthink it and trash the whole thing lol

They tumble out of the house and into the brush at the bottom of the stairs on shaky legs. Keith’s head throbs and his blood rushes loudly in his ears.

“Here,” Keith whispers urgently, tugging Lance and Allura behind him as they crouch down in the shadowy space under the stairs. The house is raised up on thick stumps and through the gap between the dirt and the floor, Keith can see Prorok and Haxus in the distance standing beside the closest police cruiser.

Prorok has a lit cigarette in his hand.

The echo of his threat weaves its way through Keith’s tumbled thoughts just as Lance latches onto his arm.

“Keith,” he hisses. His eyes are a little wild, still flared with fear. “We gotta call this in. We need to put it through central comms and tell them what’s happening. They know we’re here, they logged the job. There’s gotta be a record of-“

“Shhh!”

Keith all but clamps a hand over Lance’s mouth and shoves him to the side. Allura ignores them both, her eyes trained on the officers in the distance. She lets out a small gasp and Keith follows her gaze with his own.

“Oh, fuck.”

Walking out of the bush along the gravel driveway, another handful of police officers join Haxus and Prorok. They’re armed heavily in tactical vests, firearms on their hips and dark sunglasses to protect them against the glare. Keith can’t bring himself to bother counting, every instinct inside him screams too loudly in alarm to run.

They need to get out of here. They’re outnumbered and there’s no guarantee help is on the way. Whatever Ezor and his sisters have gotten themselves mixed up in, it’s serious if half the force has been turned and Sendak is involved.

The flash of memory hits him hard, of Ezor waiting for him outside the base in too many layers for such a hot day, her cryptic warning. Zethrid refusing to go to the hospital, then their abrupt disappearance when Keith had finally thought they were going to stay on the right side of the law.

He pushes aside the vision of Sendak and the insignia of his rank on his epaulettes as he held Keith against the wall. What even was the right side of the law now? These officers clearly weren’t on it. His sisters clearly knew it.

“We’re no match for them,” Allura says softly.

Keith shakes his head. “We can’t just sit here. Didn’t you hear what they were going to do?”

“I heard they’re after Ezor and they think you know where she is,” Lance mutters. He drags a hand over his eyes. “What the fuck, Keith. You don’t, do you?”

“No! Jesus, I wasn’t lying. I have no idea where she is. She could be halfway around the world for all I know.”

“Well, these guys seem to think you do.”

“Keith,” Allura says quietly, cutting off the hurriedly whispered argument starting to brew between them. “We need to move. We know who they are. We know they’re…. corrupt. And if they find us-“

“They’re not going to let us leave,” Keith finishes. He knows this for a fact.

Allura’s eyes are calm above the set line to her lips. She has one hand wrapped tightly around Lance’s wrist, the simple touch enough to keep Lance grounded. Perhaps they’re grounding each other. They’re two of the most important people in his life. He almost wishes he did know where his half-sisters were, just so that he had something to trade these officers, a way to ensure Lance and Allura could stay safe. A way to keep them as far away from Shiro too.

The reality of the situation hits him hard. He digs into his pockets, searching.

“Are any of your comms working? Phones?”

Lance scowls. “No, the ugly one smashed it in the house when he grabbed me.”

“Allura?”

She shakes her head. “I think I dropped it. I don’t have it.”

Keith pulls out his own unit, unsurprised to see the smashed screen in his palm. It only takes a second for him to dismantle the back and pull out the shattered battery. Lance eyes him in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“As soon as they realise we’re not in the house, they’re going to be looking for us and using everything they can to find us.”

“You mean tracking our comms?”

“Yes. They were waiting for us. This whole thing is a set up.”

“To get to you?”

“To get to Ezor.”

Lance grunts. “I really hate your sisters.”

Keith doesn’t bother to respond, privately agreeing with Lance only for a surge of guilt to grip him around the neck. If only he’d taken a moment to really listen to her, to push a bit harder in demanding an explanation, perhaps they wouldn’t be here right now.

“They can’t get away with this,” Lance insists stubbornly after a beat. He gestures beyond the sheds to where the helicopter sits silent in the paddock. “We have to find a way to contact our team, to let Trigel know-“

“We don’t know how far up the chain this goes, Lance. Or what departments are in on it.”

Lance’s face falls. His voice drops, rough like it pains him to speak. “You don’t really think our guys would be a part of this, do you?”

Keith stares at him, thinking about their team. Nyma and Rolo and Sven and Trigel, people he’s worked with for years, people who have had his back. He doesn’t want to believe it but he doesn’t want to believe that the officers wearing these shields would be anything other than law abiding.

It’s a tough pill to swallow.

“I don’t know, but we can’t risk it.”

Lance opens his mouth to argue then shuts it and glances away. The sun shines happily overhead, making Keith feel warm under the collar of his uniform despite the ice in his veins. It doesn’t seem right that the day is so bright, even the air is crisp with the scent of eucalyptus and red dirt on the wind. Not when it could be his last.

Keith turns back towards the officers milling on the other side of the house. A small group has broken away and Keith watches keenly as the wander to another corner of the building and it’s then Keith finally notices the large gas cylinders tucked against the walls.

He swallows thickly as one gestures towards the house. He can’t hear what they’re saying but it’s clear they’re waiting for some kind of signal from their superior, unaware he’s currently unconscious inside the house.

Keith doesn’t expect Sendak to be down for much longer. The shock from the taser barely took him down. They’ve lingered here for long enough. They need to get moving.

“Lance, you and Allura get to the helicopter. Stick to the tree line and skirt around the sheds. They think we’re in the house so there shouldn’t be anyone near it but be careful just in case. You’re going to need time to spool it up.”

“What?” Lance blinks then narrows his eyes. “Wait, what are you going to do?”

“Keith,” Allura protests softly. “We’re not leaving you.”

Keith squeezes her hand. They’re a part of this because of him but they’ll get away because of him too.

“You’re not. I’m going to create a distraction.”

 

* * *

 

Keith can see the officers getting restless. They turn towards the house expectantly. Prorok and Haxus start to argue.

He can’t make out what they’re saying clearly but the pull in his gut tells him now is the time for Lance and Allura to move.

This time he doesn’t ignore it.

“Go. Now!”

Lance nods sharply then grabs Allura’s hand. They dart across the short distance between the house and the tree line, disappearing into the dense, dry foliage. It will be a longer trek around to get back to the helicopter but at least neither of them will be weighed down by their med kits and packs. Keith just needs to find a way to buy enough time to allow Lance to get the helicopter airborne.

He keeps watch until Prorok shoves at Haxus, the cigarette in his hand falling to the wayside. A few of the other officers try to intervene before Haxus kicks Prorok into the dirt then spins on his heel. Keith’s heartrate rockets. He knows Haxus is heading back inside. He knows he has only moments before Haxus realises they’re gone.

He crouches low and bolts for the sheds, ducking inside the wide doorway and darting down the darkened, dusty spaces behind the large tractors. The sheds are typical of this rural area, full of animal feed and equipment, plus a few powered down ag-bots and a healthy amount of rusting and disused bits of old machinery. He casts his eyes around in the gloom, searching for anything he can use yet still keeping his ears trained for the commotion he knows will be coming once their escape is discovered.

It happens quickly, just as quickly as the idea forms in his mind. There’s a guttural roar (probably Prorok) then the slam of car doors and shouts from the officers. They’ve realised Keith and his team have escaped and now Keith knows his time is limited.

He snatches up an old rag, grateful for the fact it’s full of grease and skids towards the back of the shed where a handful of old ride-on mowers are lined up. He looks for the one with the freshest grass clippings and tugs at the fuel cover. When it pops off, the familiar smell of petroleum stings his nose but he’s too grateful about the fact whomever owns this farm is has yet to make a full transition to electric to let the smell bother him.

It makes him grunt quietly to shove the mower towards the open doorway of the shed. He takes care to stay in the shadows. Out in the yard, he can see a police car parked in the shade from the trees. The cruiser would have been a better option for what he has planned but there would be no chance of him reaching it undetected. He’d be tackled by Sendak’s men before he’d taken three steps.

Instead, he crouches down beside the mower and shoves the rag into the open fuel tank, leaving just enough out to form a kind of wick. Behind the larger tractor, he finds jumper cables hanging from the wall and he hurries back, hauling a partially dismantled ag-bot with him as he goes. He doesn’t have much time, using trembling hands to pry off the plastic cover of the bot. He attaches the cables to the ag-bot’s battery unit in a way that makes sparks jump and before he can blink, the rag is alight.

He moves quickly, giving the mower a powerful kick from the open doorway and forcing it out into the daylight. It rumbles onto the gravel and rolls towards the closest police car, exploding with an ear-splitting boom that sends the surprised officers scrambling.

Keith doesn’t stop to watch the chaos unfold. He runs hard through the sheds intent on reaching the other side and following Lance and Allura’s earlier path to the helicopter, only to skid to a halt when a figure looms tall and silent in his path.

It’s a woman, her hair dark with a sharp, angular face that tickles something at the back of his memory. Her nose is petite, slightly crooked like a fighter that’s taken too many punches and the faint lines around her dark eyes tells him she’s not young. Under the black tactical uniform she wears, the hard trim of her muscles is impossible to ignore.

Keith’s heart beats sharply against his ribcage and his breath labours. Fuck. No, he can’t be this close only to be this far away. He catches the faint but unmistakable whine of the helicopter’s engine in the distance and knows that Lance won’t be able to wait much longer.

Without hesitating, he shifts his stance and sends up a silent prayer that if he doesn’t make it, that Lance and Allura have the foresight not to risk their escape by waiting for him.

And if they have him… then at lease he knows they won’t need Shiro.

The woman stares at him with arms loose at her side for barely a beat before she lifts a fine boned hand and points down the row of machinery where a tiny crack of light leaks in on the wall.

A door he hadn’t noticed earlier.

A door that would lead him right out into the paddock where the helicopter’s engine spool.

“Go,” she hisses. “Go, now!”

It’s only a heartbeat but it feels like an eternity. Keith doesn’t stop to examine why his instincts tell him to trust her. The shouting is getting close and he knows they’re not alone in the sheds. He follows the finger she jabs out, sprinting off into the shadows before flinging his arms up to brace himself then bursting through the door and into the sunlight.

The helicopter’s rotors spin as Allura hovers anxiously in the cabin’s doorway. She’s buckled into the harness, leaning over the skids with one arm outstretched towards him. Pale hair whips sharply about her face in the wind.

A woman’s voice yells but he can’t tell if it’s Allura or the woman in the shed.

_“Run!”_

 

* * *

 

The helicopter’s skids are hovering barely half a metre off the ground when the sharp cracks of gunshots start. A few loud pings tell Keith they’re landing on their target and all he can do is duck his head and run faster than he’s ever run in his life. The rotor wash whips up the dry dirt, providing only the weakest of coverage as he bolts for the helicopter and launches for the open door.

He lands with a hard grunt, blunt nails scrabbling against the metal floor for purchase before a pair of capable hands haul him fully inside before the door slams shut. The wind and the gunfire immediately becomes muted but Keith knows it doesn’t mean safety. Allura hovers over him then points towards the cockpit just as the helicopter dips unsteadily and Keith has to fling out a hand to stop himself from sprawling across the small space and slamming into the wall.

His head snaps up just as one of the windows cracks with the impact of a bullet.

“Shit!”

He hauls himself up, scrambling through the small opening between the cabin and the cockpit then sliding into the co-pilot chair. Beyond the windshield, the ground sways and a collection of black humanoid shapes fan out across the paddock. Another crack appears on the windshield, sharp edges spreading across the glass like a crystal spider web.

“Lance! Get us out of here!”

There’s only a sharp grunt from Lance as Keith spares a moment to yank on his flight helmet and buckle himself into his seat. The helicopter climbs, then suddenly drops in altitude. “Lance!”

“Fuck,” Lance mutters, his voice rough in Keith’s ear. He’s glad Lance had donned his helmet before trying to get airborne but it’s hard to see his face through his visor. The helicopter’s alarms bleat and another round of pings slam into them. Keith’s breath comes hard when he glances down towards his knee and sees the pinprick of sunlight beam through a tiny hole that wasn’t there a few moments earlier.

Keith grips his seat, heart racing and fingers twitching. They’re so close now, so close to getting away they need to get this machine up higher.

He turns to Lance only for his urging to die a choked death in his throat.

A dark stain blooms across Lance’s shoulder. It looks dark and wet.

Keith reaches out and his hand comes away with blood. “Jesus Christ, Lance you’re shot!”

Lance grips the controls hard, mouth twisted with concentration. Another ping sounds and Lance hauls back, lifting the machine into the sky. The rise is sluggish and weak and some of the holographic displays flicker ominously but all Keith can see is the stain on Lance’s shoulder.

“Allura!”

The call is barely out of his mouth before Allura shoves herself into the gap between the seats. In her hands, she holds a pair of scissors and a bandage. She’s already cutting at the material of Lance’s uniform when he protests.

“Ally! What- oh.”

“You’ll be okay, Lance,” she tells him with a calmness Keith wishes he felt. She pauses long enough to raise her head. Outside, the house shrinks and fades in the distance and so do the sounds of the gunfire. A glimpse of fiery red tells him a police car is burning and a small part of Keith stings with guilt when he wonders if the house will go up with it.

“Keith, you… okay, you need to take over, buddy.”

Keith reaches for the controls. “Yeah, yeah, okay I got it.”

He grabs the stick in readiness and swipes his hand over the display. It flickers but holds and he holds his breath as control of the aircraft is shifted to him. He relishes the opportunity to make the helicopter climb through the clouds. Lance wasn’t a bad pilot, but Keith preferred to make the helicopter purr under his hands in his own way.

And after their narrow escape… It’s the first time Keith has felt like he’s been in control for hours.

Lance slumps back in his seat, a hand over his shoulder and the new bandage Allura had pressed to it. Lance was lucky, the bullet stole away with a chunk of skin and graze was deep enough to warrant the need for stitches but even at a rough glance, Keith knew it wasn’t life threatening.

Allura doesn’t move back into the cabin, instead staying wedged in the perch between them. She grips Lance’s hand so hard her knuckles start to look pale under her dark skin.

Keith focuses on the flickering readouts as a staticky call comes over the comm. He automatically opens his mouth to answer before he decides not to.

On the third call, he feels Lance’s eyes on him. Keith throws him a frown.

“We don’t know who to trust,” Keith says quietly. The knowledge sits like a dead weight in his gut and for the first time since they walked into that house, he has a chance to sift through his thoughts. It’s not easy, his emotions push hard at him, beating inside his chest with twin punches of fear and despair.

He tries to shake his head but it’s a mistake. Blood pounds in his ears and his heart can’t seem to find a steady beat. “We can’t just go back to base and pretend that didn’t happen. We saw their faces, they know who we are. They’ll know where to find us.”

Lance leans forward, staring at the display in front of him.  

“We can’t fly around forever. I think we’re leaking fuel and it looks like the emergency batteries are damaged. We’re losing power.”

The readout burns read. He doesn’t need Lance to say it out loud, he’s already watching the numbers tick down. There’s barely thirty minutes of flight time left and they have nowhere to go.

“Keith, where can we go?”

Lance’s eyes are on him, he can hear Allura’s shaking breath even through the speakers of his helmet. They’re looking to him for answers, answers he doesn’t think he has.

The panic pushes against him, nudging dangerously inside him and the strain gets close to unbearable. He never wanted to be a leader, he wasn’t a solider like his uncles or like his husband.

Shiro. _The garrison._

The path they need to take sparks up in his mind like a beacon. He almost chokes on the words, hope gripping his throat so tightly. “The Galaxy Garrison.”

The beat of silence is so long he almost wonders if they heard him. Lance stares at him incredulously then shakes his head. The dismissal is clear.

“Whoa, whoa. No, we can’t-”

“We have to,” Keith says sharply. He can’t see another way out of this. He can’t see another way to buy them enough safety and time to regroup. “It’s the closest airfield and its restricted airspace, Sendak won’t have any power there-“

“They’ll shoot us down if we try to land,” Lance’s voice rises with something that rides close to panic. “You know they’ve done it before-”

“It’s a risk we have to take.”

“Allura, tell him!”

Keith grits his teeth but jumps in before Allura has a chance to speak. He knows this is the best option for them. They have nothing else.

“Look, we’re dead if we set down and they find us. We have no weapons, nothing to defend ourselves- at least the garrison… we have friends there.”

“Shiro,” Allura says quietly.

Keith’s chest pangs hard at his husband’s name.

“Yes. And Pidge, and Sam and Colleen. We have _allies_ there.”

Lance is silent for a long heartbeat before he launches forward with his good arm and digs under the cockpit display. There’s a small spark as he hauls out a small unit.

“What the hell are you doing?” Keith demands.

Lance holds up the unit. “Transponder. So they can’t track us.”

Keith exchanges a glance with Allura. Their plan was risky. There was no guarantee the Galaxy Garrison’s automated defences wouldn’t blow them out of the sky but they had to try.

He needed to get to Shiro.

Keith studies the display and the numbers ticking down. Not long now before they lose all power.

“So, we’re in agreement?”

Lance and Allura nod once. “Well. Here goes nothing.”

 

* * *

 

The warning comes on a crackle over the speaker but they had known it would. They’re close, so close that Keith can see the tall spire of the rockets pointing towards space in the distance and the wide, flat plains of the tarmac beyond the garrison’s copious hangars.

“Unidentified aircraft, you are entering restricted airspace. Turn around or be fired upon. This is your only warning.”

Through the cracked windscreen, a flash of grey and orange and a roar of a jet engine as two of the garrison’s fighter’s flank them. They can almost see the glint of the pilot’s helmets through the canopy.

“We need an emergency landing,” Keith yells into his headpiece. He can only hope the radio holds together long enough that the message transmits. His heart thunders wildly in his chest. He can’t look at Lance beside or Allura beside him. “We’re leaking fuel and need assistance-“

A jet swoops close and their aircraft jolts. Alarms bleed into his ears and he fights to balance out the injured craft.

“I can’t hold it!”

More static crackles in his ears and the very real creep of fear starts to wind its way up his spine. Has he misjudged? Did they jump out of the frypan only to end up in the fire?

The relief that comes when new co-ordinates flicker and shudder in glaring red on his screen almost brings tears to his eyes. The jets continue to flank them as he wrestles with the shaky helicopter into the galaxy garrison’s airspace, allowing the override from their control tower to carry them as far as they need to go.

The skids thump heavily into the earth as they touch down. Before he can even breathe a sigh of relief, the doors are thrown open and he’s hauled out and shoved to the ground. He coughs around a mouthful of fuel fumes as the hot tarmac burns against his cheek. A booted foot against his back holds him down and a shadow blocks out the sun.

He tries to gasp but he can’t see anything beyond the grey uniform and a glimpse of dark visors and he’s only dimly aware of Allura and Lance face down beside him.

A voice carries out, sharp and deep. “Put them in the stockade.”

 

* * *

 

Somewhere else on the garrison grounds, Shiro is in the middle of simulator runs with the latest crop of cadets when Pidge barges into their main control room. Iverson looks up, startled as Pidge slumps against the doorway panting heavily.

“Shiro. Shiro, I need to talk to you.”

“What’s the meaning of this, Lieutenant?” Iverson demands angrily. Pidge ignores him, her eyes wild and her hair wilder.

Shiro gets slowly to his feet. “Pidge? What’s wrong, what’s going on?”

She straightens and smoothes down her uniform as though suddenly remembering they were on base and not in her mother’s kitchen. Her chin lifts. “There’s been an emergency landing on garrison grounds.”

Shiro frowns. He’s not sure what the unexpected event has to do with him. Surely security would be better to deal with it. He opens his mouth to say as much but Pidge beats him to the punch.

“Shiro, it’s a LifeFlight helicopter.”

Shiro’s brain stutters. Ice stiffens his spine. “A… what?”

Pidge’s expression shifts into annoyance. She crosses the room and grabs his wrist, tugging him away from his seat. Behind him, the massive rows of the cadet’s faces line the wall. They’re in a holding pattern as part of their drills. The other officers glance among themselves. One of them murmurs in confusion.

“It’s Keith,” Pidge informs him with a huff. “And Lance and Allura. Shiro, they’ve taken them to the stockade-“

But Shiro is already running.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> science? don't know her


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cracks knuckles*
> 
> Right, so I’ve realized that if I’m ever going to finish this fic, I need to speed things up so you might notice a change in pace for the rest of it.

Keith loses track of time in the blinding white room they keep him in.

He doesn’t understand the need for the weird, glowing white cuffs around they clipped around his wrists, or for why he’s been separated from Allura and Lance, but then this is the Galaxy Garrison and he’s long since given up trying to understand any of their motivations.

Keith hurts. The ache across his shoulders from the cuffs is starting to blur with the lingering pain from the beating. His face stings and one eye feels like it’s already starting to swell shut. He stares at the white floor, imagining its cool surface and the relief it would offer if he could just get off the chair he’s been attached to and put his face against it. He’s hot and cold all at once and there’s been more than one moment he’s had to concentrate hard on regulating his breathing so he doesn’t end up blacking out from a lack of oxygen.

It’s the cuffs mostly. They’re not the usual ones you see in buddy cop movies, just a simple twist of metal that encircles an offender then does nothing more than pinch flesh and restrict movement. These ones are high tech, humming with some kind of unique vibration that makes his teeth rattle in his jaw and his stomach churn if he even tries to pull his wrists apart. They’re overkill. The first thing the Garrison’s security did after they hauled them out of their helicopter was march them into the nearest building then send them five floors underground. Keith had caught a glimpse of their ruined helicopter with its rotor blades drooping forlornly in the sunlight, being towed away by a small unit emblazoned in the trademark hideous orange of the Garrison and taken out of sight even as the security guards patted them down and emptied out their pockets.

Keith had snorted when all they pulled out of his were a few biros, some drug cards he hasn’t had to reference in years and his set of keys to the townhouse with a silly little keyring that Shiro had bought him during his week at home recovering after his accident.

“Here,” Shiro had said, handing over the small package and giving Keith a kiss on the top of his head as soon as he walked in the door. He didn’t wait for Keith to open it, just flashed him a teasing grin on his way to the kitchen. It was teasing enough that Keith had eyed the package suspiciously and wondered if he was going to like what was inside.

He did of course, pulling out the glossy keyring in the shape of a red motorbike and chuckling quietly as he held it up to admire in the light while Black curled around his legs.

Shiro walked back to the couch, handing him a fresh bottle of water and settling in on the cushions beside him. He draped an arm over Keith’s shoulders and Keith had turned into him, glad to have him home again.

“What’s this for?”

Shiro’s lips quirked. “Since you haven’t got the real thing anymore, you can have this in the meantime. You know, for old time’s sake.”

Keith wishes he was back on the couch with Shiro right now.

Did anyone even know they was here? Where were Allura and Lance? He didn’t understand how the Garrison would consider them enough of a threat that they would need to separate them into different rooms, let alone cuff them but he can only hope that Lance gets some kind of medical treatment for the wound on his arm. He’d looked pale in the elevator, swaying unsteadily enough that Allura had almost tried to take a swing at the nearest guard just to fight her way to get to his side.

Things had happened quickly after that.

The elevator stopped at another level and more Garrison personnel descended on them, faces and uniforms Keith didn’t recognize. They pulled Allura away, down a separate hallway with her spitting at them like an angry cat then dragged Lance off into one room and dumped him in another.

And since then, he’s been confined here with nothing but the thrum of his aching body to keep him company.

 

* * *

 

Shiro is frustrated and tired and frankly a little scared when he’s met with the iron wall of resistance from the Garrison’s own security staff. He begs, argues, cajoles and then flat out refuses to leave until someone in authority comes and explains to him just exactly _why_ they won’t let him see his husband.

He doesn’t expect them to send Admiral Sanda.

“Admiral,” he blinks, unconsciously straightening and smoothing his palms against the material of his pants. There’s something cold and piercing about Sanda, her reputation is unbending and Shiro’s hopes fall a little flat when he realizes she’s the wall he’s going to have to break through.

But Sanda, for all her faults, had to be a reasonable woman to get to the rank she holds, surely?

“I hope you can tell me what’s going on here, and just why a medical aircrew is being detained and denied visitors?” he says with a calmness he doesn’t really feel. _Push it down, deal with it later._ All he needs now is to see Keith, and get some answers.

Sanda narrows her eyes at him and her gaze flickers to his chest. No rank, no indications of being one of her. He’s not enlisted anymore, hasn’t been for a long time, and for the first time in a long time he wishes he was.

He has no power here.

His stomach sinks a little further.

Sanda’s eyes narrow. “You’re a contractor, are you not?”

Something inside Shiro flares hotly. Whether she was simply trying to rattle him, or whether she honestly doesn’t remember that she was among the line of admirals he struggled to stand in front years ago that had condemned him citing _pilot error_ , he didn’t know.

The thread that had always kept a small part of him tethered to the Garrison and all it represented burns and turns to ash in the face of his inner fury.

“Only for a few more weeks,” he answers. He doesn’t bother to keep the ring of satisfaction out of his tone. “Then I will be… moving on.”

Sanda’s lips purse tightly and her nostrils flare. He wouldn’t even have seen it had he not been watching her so closely.

“Then you don’t have the clearance I need. This is a Garrison matter, to be kept within Garrison ranks.”

She turns her back on him then, lifting her hand to swipe against the door panel that leads further into the stockade and Shiro sees his chance to get to his husband slipping through his fingers.

“Admiral, please, wait! I know this crew, I can vouch for them. The pilot, Keith, that’s… he’s my husband.”

Sanda stills then turns slowly.

“Ah yes, your _husband_ ,” Sanda replies. It almost sounds mocking. “And tell me, Takashi-“ Shiro starts at the sound of his birth name, then his face heats.

So, she does remember who he is.

“How long have you been married? Where did you met? I’ve heard many a rumour about your nuptials and let me tell you that I find the timing of this event more than a little concerning.”

He swallows roughly. “What are you getting at?”

“The Garrison is currently working on all kinds of top secret and highly sensitive materials-“

“They’re not a threat,” Shiro cuts in incredulously, already knowing where she was trying to go with this. Any interloper would be considered a potential spy; the Garrison was known to be highly secretive. “They’re not… they’re not _spies_. They’re medics.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Sanda replies sharply. Her tone could cut glass. She stares at Shiro and it’s all he can do not to bristle under her assessing gaze. The itch to get into the room where his husband is burns hot inside his chest. He doesn’t understand how this has happened, how he had woken up that morning with Keith’s hands on him and shared breakfast with him before they’d gone their separate ways and now he was here and Keith was suddenly out of his reach.

He’d caught a glimpse of it as he ran across the base and the vision of the helicopter as they towed it into one of the hangars still burned behind his eyes. It’s normally shiny surfaces had been peppered with small, black holes, the glass shattered and cracked with numerous impacts. The doors were thrown open, the internals of the aircraft pulled out and spread across the tarmac like the entrails of a dying animal.

Whatever it was that had prompted Keith to fly it to the Garrison base instead of to its civilian home, Shiro knew without a doubt it had to have been bad.

“I can assure you Admiral; my husband has no interest in whatever the garrison has going on behind closed doors.”

_And neither do I_.

But he doesn’t add that out loud.

 

* * *

 

A few levels down, Allura grits her teeth against the hum of the cuffs around her wrists and slams the white surface onto the metal edge of the chair. So much white everywhere, it was making her already pounding headache even worse but it was easier to focus on her indignant fury than it was to give into the steadily creeping worry and fear crawling up her throat.

She didn’t know where Keith was, and she didn’t know where Lance was, and that was what made her the most anxious. She drew too much of her strength from him, and without him, she worries her façade might crack.

“This is completely unacceptable,” she shouts. There’s no windows in the room, just a wide air vent in the ceiling directly above her head and a small unit directly above the door that blinks with a red light. She knows they can see her but she has no idea if they can hear her too.

She bangs the cuffs again, stomping her feet for good measure.  “I demand you release me at once!”

Her only response is the quiet hum as the air circulates through the vents.

 

* * *

 

Keith wonders if he might have somehow dozed off when he’s startled by the door swooshing open without warning. He blinks, trying to refocus his gaze, only to realize his left eye is almost completely swollen shut. He can see a blurry figure filling the doorway but it hurts his head too much to hold it up so he lets it fall forward again.

Footsteps enter the room and even in his dazed state, he can pick out the click of heels against the floor surface.

_“What the hell is this?”_

The riot of emotions that hit him at the sound of his husband’s voice is almost too much for him to handle. For an instant, he tells himself he’s delirious, that he’s dreamed it, that it couldn’t possibly be Shiro because Shiro doesn’t know he’s here except then Shiro’s hands are cupping his face and Keith has to choke back the wild rush of relief inside him. He feels the smooth metal of Shiro’s bionic hand, savors the contrast of it with his warm human hand on the other side of his face. That gentle touch, the soft puff of Shiro’s breath as he leans close and peers into Keith’s face – it’s everything Keith tries to focus on through the dizzying pain and queasiness of his body.

Shiro isn’t smiling.

“What the hell is this,” he says again, in a calmly dangerous tone that makes a curl of ice slide down Keith’s spine. Keith isn’t sure who he’s talking to, he can’t focus, and he opens his mouth to try to answer when Shiro suddenly releases him and turns away from him. “Get these things off him.”

Another figure steps closer but Keith doesn’t recognize them. They look the same as the rest of the Garrison security and they tap out a few keys on their data pad. The cuffs around his wrists suddenly unlock and drop to the floor and the sickening vibration finally ends.

Keith leans forward gasping.

“Keith,” Shiro turns back to him, one hand on his shoulder to steady him. It’s his bionic hand and it’s comforting despite its hard edges. Then Shiro kneels in front of him and cups his cheek again. This time his expression is soft, the warmth Keith is used to shining in his eyes. “Baby,” he murmurs and Keith almost wants to sob at how good it feels and how good it sounds.

“Shiro.”

He’s not sure who moved first, if it was his body just giving out or if it was Shiro reaching for him, but suddenly he’s in Shiro’s arms and he’s pressing his face against his husband’s neck. Shiro hugs him tight, until Keith’s body starts to scream with the bruises and cut lip from Sendak and his men’s beating. He draws himself back and squints at Shiro with his unswollen eye.

Shiro can’t seem to stop touching his face. He rubs a thumb gently over a tender spot on Keith’s face. “Jesus, Keith. Sweetheart, what the hell happened to you?”

Before Keith can answer, the security guard holding the data pad moves towards the door. “For the record, it wasn’t us.”

Shiro’s expression tightens again. He takes one more lingering glance at Keith, his gaze travelling over his face, over the ripped state of his uniform, over the blood Keith can feel drying on his chin. He can feel Shiro’s silent question, _is that true?_ And Keith nods slightly.

Shiro accepts his response then stands up. “Keith needs medical attention,” Shiro tells the guard but a flare of discomfort rises up. Keith doesn’t want to hang around here anymore than he has to and he’s about to blurt as much out until he remembers there’s nowhere else for them to go right now.

Like it or not, they need the sanctuary the Garrison can offer them, even if it does come in the form of sickness inducing humming handcuffs.

“Just give me a med kit and I’ll do it myself,” he ends up muttering, slumping back on the chair.

There’s a silent beat where the guard hesitates then turns to a third person standing just inside the door. Keith doesn’t recognize the sharp faced woman but the gold bars across her shoulders tells him she’s the one in command here. She gives Shiro a hard look then nods at the guard. Together, they leave the room, closing the door behind them and then they’re alone.

Shiro lets out a shaky exhale then comes back to Keith’s side and crouches down once again. It’s ridiculous that they’re almost eye to eye even though Shiro is kneeling.

“Sweetheart. What the hell happened to you?”

 

* * *

 

In another cell down the hall, Lance is dozy from the pain relief the two guys in hazmat suits stuck in his veins. He thinks it was pain relief, he sure as hell hopes it was and not some weird kind of sedative to keep him quiet. Everything about the encounter rankles, and he rubs his shoulder in an effort to soothe away the echo of pain.

At least, he thinks he does. His arm doesn’t quite seem to want to work, neither do his hands. Actually, they feel really fucking heavy and, oh-

The humming gets louder and he flinches then drops his hands back into his lap.

Right. The cuffs.

He closes his eyes and hangs his head, wishing he could sleep but too worried about where they’ve taken Allura, why they’ve been separated. Also his stomach feels like it’s about to crawl out of his throat. He could really do with seeing Allura’s beautiful face right now. She has a way of making everything bright again.

He lets the drugs in his system do their job and they carry him away that when a slim figure stands in front of him and kicks his boot, he can’t remember where he is. He struggles to focus and he squints.

“Allura?”

“Guess again, idiot,” and then the cuffs are suddenly dropping off his wrists and he’s been hauled off the chair. He peers weakly at the fluff of auburn hair that barely reaches his shoulders, yet has no trouble holding him up.

“Gremlin?”

Pidge grunts. “I hate it when you call me that.”  She hauls him up in a way that’s a little rougher than necessary. “My name is Pidge.”

Lance blinks down at the top of her head. “I thought it was Katie?”

She growls as she walks him stumbling to the door. “Shut the hell up, McClain. God, what Allura sees in you I have no idea.”

“It’s my charming personality,” Lance responds. He aims for a cocky grin but his face doesn’t quite seem to want to work. “Holy shit, what did they give me?”

“Aren’t you the medical professional?” Pidge grunts again. They’re almost to the door now and she braces him upright then cautiously removes her hands. “Can you stand on your own?”

Lance makes a concentrated effort to brace his feet. “Uh. Sure.”

She watches him for a moment longer, just to be sure he doesn’t suddenly topple and when he doesn’t, he sends her a sloppy grin. “Look at me, standing on my own two feet and everything.”

“Yay, you,” she deadpans, rolling her eyes. She turns to the panel by the door and pulls something out of the pocket of her uniform then jabs it in the side of the keypad. She also taps the side of her ear. “Dad, I’ve got Lance.”

He watches curiously as the unit she holds in her hands flashes a variety of colours then the door panel turns green and the door slides open. She holds a hand out to him to stop him from following then peers out the door and into the corridor.

She leans back, satisfied then turns to him. “Right, we’re going to have to move quickly. Are you good?”

Lance grins. Or at least he tries to. “I’m not good, I’m grea-“

“Oh, for god’s sake, shut up,” she hisses, grabbing his hand and hauling him down the hallway.

 

* * *

 

They collect Allura along the way and Lance has never been so happy to be faintly suffocated by her mass of silver waves as she hugs him. She checks him over quickly and he slurs something about how they jabbed him and he feels kind of funny but then it doesn’t seem to matter because she curls her arm around him and takes his weight as they follow Pidge through the corridors, pausing occasionally as she fiddles with the unit in her hands. He didn’t notice it at first, but a small triangular drone hovers nearby, scouting ahead and doing some kind of techy thing that he guesses affects the security systems long enough for them to sneak through.

It would almost be kind of exciting, like some kind of cool video game, except that if someone jumped out in front of them they would probably be more likely to shoot first then ask questions later.

There’s no do-over’s here. No restart or second lives.

Lance decides then he’s had enough of being shot at today, thank you very much.

“Where are we going?” he whispers at Pidge’s back. Allura’s hand tightens around his waist and hauls him up again. God, he always knew his girlfriend was strong but she’s putting him to shame right now. As soon as they get out of this, he’s going to up his weights at the gym. Not that he’s threatened by a strong woman, but it would be nice to just be able to keep up.

If they get out of this.

He wonders how long it’s been since the shootout at the farmhouse, how long it’s been since they’ve been here under the garrison’s thumb. What was going on outside in the rest of the world. He hopes Trigel is okay, and the rest of the team and okay, even Rolo. He worries that those officers will descend on their LifeFlight base like a plague of locusts trying to find them, except…. Keith disabled the transponder, right? And no one would know where they are so that should mean the rest of their team is safe, right? Because they don’t know anything and the Garrison dragged the helicopter out of sight and they’re not about to advertise that someone got through their defenses and-

His head starts to hurt with all the possibilities.

Pidge finally leads them into another room and this one looks a hell of a lot more comfortable than the previous rooms they were held in. There’s not so much white for starters. It feels more like a rec room, with a wide table to one side and a handful of couches around a low coffee table in the center. Beyond that, a small kitchenette and a fridge with a clear door. Lance’s mouth waters at the sight of all the bottled water there. When was the last time he ate or drank? He can’t remember that either, but he’s suddenly thirsty enough he’s sure he could drink an ocean. 

It takes him a moment to tear his eyes away from the water to realize they’re not the only ones in the room. Commander Holt stands near the couch and he looks up as they all shuffle into the room. Beside him, Shiro is kneeling in front of Keith perched on the edge of the couch with what looks like a med kit open in front of him on the low table.

He looks like crap.

“You look like crap,” Lance tells him.

Keith glances up at him from under his hair. The bruising around his eye is impressive. “Yeah? You don’t look so smash hot either.”

Lance grunts as Allura leads him to the couch and helps him sink down beside Keith. He gives Keith a weak shove, making him shuffle down enough to make room for Allura then he tugs her down beside him. He threads their hands together and rests them on his knee and she slides him a small smile, one of those private ones she only keeps for him.

She could never not be beautiful in his eyes, but he can see the strain in her face, the worry. The apprehension. No one is really sure where this leaves them. They know there’s a portion of the police that are definitely on the wrong side of the law, and they know their faces. This is going to get ugly for someone and Lance has a feeling it’s probably going to be them.

Shiro gets up off the floor and goes to stand beside Commander Holt and Pidge. He folds his hands over his chest and regards them all silently. Lance feels a little bit like they’re in the principal’s office and he’s about to get suspended for playing with the nunchucks he pinched from his brother Luis behind the school cafeteria back in primary school.

“Okay,” Shiro says. “We need a plan.”


End file.
